klutz chronicles

You can’t talk butterfly language to caterpillar people. – Unknown

I saw that quote today on Instagram and it resonated. I thought it was the perfect caption to the photo I took whilst walking down Bricklane on Saturday.

I’ve seen the work of this artist before, on another wall on Bricklane. This was newly installed when I saw it though because the paper that the butterflies were cut out from still littered on the pavement, still crisp and still pristine. You’ve got to love how ever-changing the street art in Bricklane is. It’s always evolving, always moving forward, never standing still. There’s definitely something to learn there, don’t you think?

I’d booked tickets to the Klimt experience for an earlier date in July. But since I couldn’t go for the reason I’d originally booked the tickets for, the organisers of the exhibition allowed me to use the amount of money I paid for the tickets to use it on another date. So I went. On my own.

It felt strangely new doing things on my own. Like I didn’t know how to be. But it was nice too. Because I was doing something on my own. It was strangely empowering.

Of course, what I didn’t mention was that before I even got to the exhibition, I tripped on the uneven pavement and grazed my right elbow, further injuring my already poorly right shoulder (it was an old rotator cuff injury that has reared its ugly head, but that’s another story!). But I took care of myself. I cleaned up my wound, found a large enough bandaid to cover the double graze (how I managed to graze my elbow in two different places, I will never know!) and went on the exhibition…even though to be completely honest, I just wanted to go home and curl up in bed and feel sorry for my clumsy, klutzy self.

I guess, sometimes, when you’re on your own, you just have to choose to be brave and move forward.

Yes, that is a humdinger of a burn mark.

To say that I’m a klutz is an understatement. I’ve slipped on icy patches and landed on my bum, hurt my knee and fallen on my back. It’s the same with wet patches. I’ve slid down stairs. I’ve missed steps and hit my head on walls. But as I am most often found cooking or baking, my most frequent injuries are finger slicing or burns.

Last night wasn’t any different. The only difference is that I’ve managed to give myself a second degree burn. Needless to say I don’t exactly blame anyone else. It was completely my fault. I was absent-mindedly rushing through things. I was attempting to take a full baking tray of chips and place it on the counter whilst trying to figure out how to get the other tray that was still in the oven out and onto the next shelf up.

Of course that was an accident waiting to happen. I managed to miss the counter all together and the edge of the extremely hot baking tray clipped the edge of the counter and the baking tray bounced on my wrist. I not only managed to burn myself fairly badly, I also managed to spill two-thirds of the contents of the baking tray. There was carnage in my tiny kitchen as chips were everywhere.

Alan made me rush to run my injured wrist under the cold tap and fill the sink up with cold water so I could soak the burn in the cold water for as long as I could bear it. I’m glad I did because it meant that I didn’t get a massive blister. But it does mean having to make sure that the burn has to be protected until the scab dries and the wound stops coming up with blisters.

I will try to be more careful. TRY being the operative word.