Coming down the stairs at home, while holding Shmolian - I tripped and fell - slamming my back against the stairs...

I'm ok.
Shmolian is fine.
I began to think though, I should have my back checked though cause it really hurts. So I got in the train and went downtown to see a doctor and have an x-ray. The results were that I will be in pain for about a month, but no damage to my ribs, or anything severe. If I wanted more details, more in-depth information about what exactly was happening in the region of where I struck I could get a CT scan, but he advised against it - saying "why put yourself through all that radiation?" I agreed. [Interestingly, as I write this, I realize that price had nothing to do with any of my decisions because, in Canada - the treatment I received at the hospital is covered by the government.] But the reason I'm writing this has less to do with universal health care, and more about the choices I've made that led me to be in the ER in the first place.

Men move with purpose. Men move with confidence. Men move the arrogance.
Wait, hang on. Those sentences should read: "Men are trained to move with ..." Since the beginning of our relationship - and much more since Stinkapee and Shmolian came on the scene DD has been talking to me about moving more consciously through the house - being aware of how I move my body, being aware of the kind of body that I have - that is - one that is hard, and unforgiving if another body hits it.

I also tend to move as though I am entitled to go anywhere I want. Some of this comes out of being terrorized when I was a young child, and now that I'm older "I want to take up as much space as possible - and walk wherever/ however/ and at whatever speed I want." As I write it - I know it doesn't make a lot of sense, but that hasn't seem to stop me in the past and it didn't stop me yesterday morning when I flew into the air, Shmolian in hand - slam my back against the staircase. (I was going to ignore it, but then thought - if there is a complication - my family will be screwed if it's not taken care of.)

So, as I carried him down the stairs, I allowed my mind to wonder. I was tired yes, but I'm always tired to some degree. In fact, I was tired when I carried him down the stairs this morning, but that this time I told my feet/legs to be more careful, mindful of each step.

[By the way, I think going to the hospital ER / and having Song of Solomon and We Real Cool - made it easier for me to process the whole incident because before I left, DD was trying to talk to me about the choices I made was completely indignant. "What are you talking about? It was an accident and Shmolian is ok - can we focus on my back!?" was my attitude towards the whole situation. Now, I should be clear I didn't actually say anything. But that was the inferred from not saying anything. That's my more of my stuff.

Being upset at DD for speaking the truth. Speaking what is true. [Sound familiar bloggers?] Morrison's opening in her book was layered, poetic, it was beautiful. Hooks spoke about men, Black men and patriarchy and it totally and complete failure. ...
But I did re/discover and exciting music that let Black men speak about their feelings, much more openingly then hiphop ever would (hiphop doesn't)

That music is the blues, and I think I'm going to take the next little bit of time exploring it, using it as a springboard to talk about my feelings.
Gotta go have breakfast with the family now...