How to Get Your Ass Kicked by a Pillow
[Just a side note, if you are offended by my use of the word ‘ass’ in this blog title, I apologize. I am also not taking it back as this blog is currently rated PG in its use of Biblical swear words.]
I am losing today.
By my count (which is subject to scrutiny or perhaps revision given my lack of mathematical prowess), the score currently stands at Today: 5; Kelley: 1.
See, what had happened was…
I washed my face last night and went to bed. I got up in the dark shortly thereafter to turn on a fan, but I used my cell phone as a flashlight to avoid sending my leg into the sharp edge of the bed at ramming speed, and made it back to bed without any mishaps. Let the record reflect that I have no recollection of tripping, stumbling, falling, or smacking my face into the wall, floor, or any furniture that I might have encountered between the hours of 2145 and 0530 on 8 and 9 April. (I would also like the record to reflect that 8 April happens to be my half birthday so I am now officially 23.5 years old. NO ONE EVEN CELEBRATED WITH ME. It’s like people don’t care about half birthdays or something.)
Anyway, when I woke up for PT this morning, slipped my ruby red toes into my piggy slippers and shuffled to the bathroom, I flipped on the bathroom light and saw this:
I realize this may seem like an unnecessarily dramatic and unattractive super close-up of my face, but I want to emphasize to you my distress and confusion upon seeing these marks on my nose. Also, yes. I do make this face at the mirror every morning, thanks for asking.
My first thought was that I had fallen asleep while still wearing my glasses, because sometimes I doze off when I’m reading at night, and it was just a mark from where those nose-pad thingies had pressed against my skin. But it was still there after PT. And it is still there now. I took that picture after returning from the gym the second time, rounding out my disfigurement at a full 15 hours and counting. It doesn’t feel like a bruise. It’s just ugly. I don’t know how it got there.
Let me emphasize this issue for you:
But we’ll return to this unfortunate dermatological condition momentarily. Here is the next time I lost today, and it was still before 0600.
I left my tennis shoes in my gym bag in my car last night by accident, so this morning I was standing barefoot in the kitchen in PTs, really not wanting to go out to my car to finish getting dressed. Fortunately I realized I had an old pair of tennis shoes in my closet, so I decided to save myself a trip.
I can’t remember the last time I wore these shoes—last summer, I suppose, since I bought new running shoes a month or so into BOLC. Pulling them out and putting them on brought back some SERIOUS memories. It was crazy. These are the running shoes that I was wearing for my last three cadet APFTs and my final record IOCT, which I had complete within three months of graduation due to my fractured femur setting me back on the normal timeline.
It was strange wearing them again. I felt like Mulan gearing up for war. And not in a I’m-so-badass-I’m-going-to-strap-down-by-boobs-and-go-kill-me-some-Huns kind of way. More like a WHY-DID-I-HAVE-TO-CUT-OFF-MY-HAIR-AND-STRAP-DOWN-MY-BOOBS-TO-GO-KILL-HUNS-when-I-just-want-to-stay-here-and-bring-honor-to-my-family-by-farming-or-something kind of way. It brought back all this residual anxiety about the stupid IOCT (which for you lucky people who don’t know what this is, you can check it out HERE) and miserably painful two-mile runs. They’re bulkier than my current running shoes, and a little heavier. I suspect they are laden with my past misery and despair, as well as poop-water smell from the APFT course and asbestos from Hayes Gym.
It was a cheery start to the day: heading to work in depressed running shoes, looking like I got punched in the face.
But I remained optimistic!
Until I turned the kitchen into a Russian brothel.
My roommate got married over the weekend and had some of the leftover alcohol sitting on the kitchen counter. Reaching gracefully for the toaster this morning after PT, I carefully dodged these glass containers of deliciousness. LOL no I didn’t. I knocked over a bottle of Grey Goose and flooded the kitchen seven inches deep with vodka. Just kidding. But I did spill most of the bottle.
First of all, HOW DEPRESSING. Second of all, I was kind of freaking out because I was already in ACUs and I didn’t want to go to work smelling like I am two seconds away from an ASAP (Army Substance Abuse Program) referral. I mopped everything up and sprayed down the kitchen with 409 and washed my hands a couple of times before I left the house, but still. I wasted a ton of really good vodka (such a fail), which made the kitchen smell like a Russian brothel. (Not that I know from experience what a Russian brothel actually smells like or anything; I just imagine that there should be lots of vodka. If it had been rum I probably would have wept, but also I would have described the kitchen as a pirate den of iniquity instead of a Russian brothel.)
Then I got to work and my computer, which has not let me log in since Friday morning, was still giving me the spinny wheel of go-to-hell-we-aren’t-cooperating-today-or-ever-again, so I had to give up restarting it over and over and finally take it to S6. It was like Goldcoats all over again. Goodbye computer, see you never.
So, foiled by technology, I returned to work. Which was fine. Just motor pool things. But then after work I went to spin class and managed to slam my leg into the bike not once, not twice, but every single time I either mounted or dismounted the bike, which was four times, in case you were wondering. It was definitely at ramming speed too, so that was karma getting a good chuckle after I evaded disaster with the sharp edge of the bed last night.
“What’s that you say?” I imagine karma asking and twirling its mustache. “Didn’t acquire any new bruises last night due to her clever use of lighting in her treacherous voyage across the bedroom to turn on the lamp? Well we’ll just see about that… how about a mysterious bruise on the nose? And two more on the leg, just for good measure! MWAHAHAHAHAHA!”
Karma is such a bully sometimes.
Now don’t get me wrong: it wasn’t a terrible day by any stretch of the imagination. It was a fine day, really, but I definitely didn’t win either. This was the real kicker:
Soldiers and NCOs kept asking me what happened to my nose…ALL. DAY. I guess I should be pleased that I have been personable enough that Soldiers find me approachable, but ohmalawd. Enough is enough. I DON’T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY NOSE. One of my warrants told me I needed to make up a better story, and it should involve lots of punching and stuff. Typical.
Anyway, one of my shop foremen leaned over and wrinkled up his nose and goes, “Ew. Ma’am. What happened to your FACE?”
(Nice, right? Baha.)
“I don’t know!” I told him, and explained that it wasn’t there when I went to sleep but it appeared when I woke up.
“You didn’t hit your head?”
“You sleep with a dog?”
“Nope. Just my pillows and me.” (I neglected to mention that sometimes Stitch or one of the bears from Brave also join me from time to time, which I still think was the best choice.)
He leaned back and grinned. “That’s good, ma’am. You got your ass kicked by a pillow.”
Apparently I did. Unless of course I did hit my head last night and the reason I don’t remember is because my brain is exploding inside of my skull or leaking brain fluids or whatever it is that happens up there when you have a head injury. But I think this is unlikely. (However, if I do turn out to have some kind of potentially dangerous sleepwalking habit or amnesia, I am TOTALLY going to take advantage of it and pretend like I have never seen people before and forget my own name and walk up to strangers and say, “Are you my mother?” and act like I don’t speak English and stuff.)
But here is why today is not a total loss—because this weekend, I am flying up to NYC to see my Manfriend and also Sister #3 and I am greatly, greatly pleased at this prospect. That is a definite mark in my favor for the day, so it’s not a total loss.
Stand by for further updates. On the other hand, if my pillow decides to take things to the next level, this may be my final entry.