How Do You Cure Clumsy?

Over the last two days, I’ve been fixated with looking in the mirror. Particularly with looking at my nose.

My little swollen nose.

My sore swollen nose.

Funny thing is, I don’t know why my nose is sore and why it’s swollen. The easiest conclusion would be that I bumped it. This in itself is a likely possibility because I’m clumsy.

I’m so clumsy that I’ve stopped trying to remember every collision involving my body.

The perpetual bruises on both outer thighs I’ve discovered is the exact height of the edge of my bed’s footboard. Apparently, after over a year with that bed, I’ve yet to adjust my cornering parabola.

The scar by my eye was created in my infancy. When I clawed the crap out of myself with baby-sharp fingernails. My parents have shared this story with me—obviously I wasn’t generating memories yet.

The scars on my knees and elbows, from that time when I was 18 and I flew over my own feet into the gritty ground of the Staten Island Ferry Terminal. I only remember that one since my big cousins laughed at me for years.

So the big ones have stories (or at least deducible outcomes). But this nose thing is really puzzling me.

How does one not remember smacking herself in the nose? I faintly recall something of the sort. Perhaps when I was in the kitchen on Friday? Was I trying to brush hair out of my eye? That sounds likely given my wonky hand-eye coordination (which usually results with a hand to my eye).

All I’m certain about is that the nose knows. And it isn’t telling.