For those of you who don't know me well, the basis of this story is that I have a pretty extreme reaction to sugar. I am also an extreme klutz. These two things in tandem lead to many accidents. Add to that I work a pretty blue collar job in a warehouse, working on grip trucks made for film equipment. Now you see where this is going. Basically, I am a huge source of worry to my bosses, being that I pretty regularly get injured on the job. For example, just yesterday, a coworker of mine was throwing a set of truck keys at me, expecting me to catch them. Instead of even thinking about possibly trying to catch them, I backed up much farther than I needed to, to avoid their path, and ended up tripping on some boxes stacked behind me, throwing my arms and legs in the air and landing on my back. This is pretty typical for me.
Also my bedroom has low ceilings. Just imagine the possibilities for a girl like me.
Here are some pictures I took the night after a fairly sizable fall. I was furiously skipping down a concrete hill, in total ecstasy, unaware of the crack in the pavement ahead. My friend Kristina watched it happen as she was walking behind me. The way she explains it was it looked like I was randomly shot in the back and somehow then magically catapulted forward while my entire body floated off the ground. I landed on my face and continued to skid on the pavement on my hip. I was really bewildered for an entire day after that. A possible concussion. All I know is that when my head hit, for a second I thought that this might be my very last thought, and all I can think about is if anybody saw me do that. Needless to say, this is not the first time I have thought that, nor is it the first concussion I have endured.
This eventually turned into a little tiny shiner the next day.
This part hurt really fuckin' bad. Three weeks later and I still have a bruise. Also, on a side note, this picture was obviously supposed to illustrate my wound, but I think it does a better job of illustrating how tight my pants were that day.
Oh yes, I must mention, it is true, my parents nearly named me Grace. Which is funny, but even funnier is this: instead they thought they would invent a name. They mixed their middle names, Kenneth and Diane, but then thought Kendia was weird sounding, thusly they augmented it to Kendra, which does have a nice ring if I do say so myself. They only found that they were not the inventors of Kendra when I turned five and we discovered through an incident at Chucky Cheese that Kendra has been a name for centuries.