Here you are again, up on the ladder with a pair of pruning shears, trimming that damn wisteria arbor.

The wisteria is a beautiful plant, but you wonder for the 10,000th time why the previous owners, who clearly weren't serious gardeners, put it in. The wisteria needs careful maintenance and pruning to flower properly. Parts of it are 15 feet off the ground, and it grows like kudzu. Keeping it in check is a royal pain, but utterly necessary. If left to its own devices the damn thing would eat your house.

Anyway, you're working away at the top of your ladder, maybe eight or nine feet off the ground, humming along to the music from your iPod, when you feel the ladder start to shift under you. It's leaning to the left, way over to the left. Maybe you should start back down the ladder and reposition it, you think.

Just then you realize you haven't a prayer. It's beyond the point of no return. You're riding it down.

You hear yourself scream briefly. There's a confused impression of something scratchy and green and smelling of juniper just before you land with a sickening thump on your back.

Some animal portion of your hindbrain forces you to roll over onto your hands and knees, but that's about the best you can manage. Your body is screaming to get back up, but you'd really rather just stay here a minute, thanks.

Your upper back feels like somebody hit it with a sledgehammer. You've had the breath knocked out of you. On the good news side, you take a brief inventory of your limbs, and they're all still attached.

You spit out a mouthful of juniper needles and try to get your head screwed back on.

Your next-door neighbors must have heard you scream, because they actually make it to you before your wife can get downstairs. They take it upon themselves to clean up the mess and put away your ladder while you limp inside.

You end up getting a ride to the ER (thanks Carol) where they listen to your story and almost immediately strap a neck brace onto you and lay you down on a gurney. You stare up at the fluorescent lights and feel ridiculous.

They put you in one of the examining rooms and leave you alone for awhile. Dazzling yourself with the fluorescent lights is thin entertainment. You wonder if you can sit up.

Why yes, you can.

This earns you a lecture from the nurses when they see you, but you're quickly realizing that you're wasting everyone's time. When the nurses aren't looking, you try a couple of gentle back exercises. Your back works fine. Your neck is a little sore, but it feels like just a mild case of whiplash. The Advil you took before you left the house is finally kicking in.

The resident comes in, pokes and prods you for awhile, agrees that you're sore but healthy, and has you sit up and take off the neck brace. This nearly earns you a second lecture and possible restraints from the nurses before you quickly explain that no, really, the doctor did it this time.

Two hours later, you finally raise enough hell to convince the doctors to cut you loose.

You walk home with the happy energy of a man released from jail. You reflect, ruefully, that on the whole this has to be one of the most embarrassing fuckups you've pulled in a while.

On the plus side, you suppose, it'll make a great LiveJournal entry.

1) When attempting to clean out a clogged drain, do not mix caustic soda with Liquid Plumber.

2) If you are dumb enough to mix different drain openers, do not lean over the sink while investigating to see if the drain openers are, in fact, working. Breathing in the fumes will result in a mild chemical burn in your lungs, causing you to feel like you've inhaled battery acid, and forcing a trip to the local ER to get your lungs opened back up. Further, since you're forbidden by the doctor from further work on the stopped drain, you will still have to pay about $400 to an emergency plumber to get the damn drain open.

Some days I'm just not too bright.

*hack, wheeze*