Owie.

I fell out of my chair on Friday as I was leaving the downstairs bedroom and went down the ramp past the raised foyer. Something like a slow, inevitable slide (I even did a quick little stand up when I was tipping forward!) that ended with my full weight landing hard on the left side. It was the kind of fall that feels stupid the second it happens. I stayed down for a second, squinting each eye to make sure my vision was not impaired, stared at the ceiling, and then got up because I do not like to make excuses. I had to get out back and do my walk. I would rather just grin through it. Not be a pussy.

Now my left arm is all black. A terrible contusion has bloomed from the shoulder down past the elbow, the kind of deep purple-black that looks worse every morning. I have always said I have no use of that arm. It has been dead weight for years—something I accommodate around, joke about, and mostly ignore. But after crashing my entire body weight atop it, I feel an incredible, specific pain in the bicep area. Not the dull ache of a bruise. Something sharper and more insistent, like the muscle is protesting every attempt to do even the smallest thing.

Putting on a top in the morning has become a production. I have to lead with the right arm, then carefully feed the left through the sleeve without letting the fabric drag across the bruise. Any stretch or twist sends a bright jolt through the upper arm. I end up sitting there half-dressed, muttering at myself, which is better than admitting how much it hurts.

The real discovery came later. Transferring my weight over the left side is suddenly difficult. More difficult than I ever admitted. Extending my left arm and even the shoulder while lifting my right leg is apparently something I have been doing subconsciously this whole time. I never thought about it. I just did it—shifted, braced, adjusted. Now every one of those automatic corrections lights up the bicep and makes the whole maneuver feel clumsy and precarious. The arm I claimed was useless was deviously doing more work than I gave it credit for, and now that it cannot the rest of my body is noticing the gap.

I am still grinning through it. Still not interested in excuses. But the black arm and the bicep pain are forcing a small, annoying recalibration. The body keeps its own accounting, whether you want to look at the ledger or not. Friday’s fall just made the numbers harder to ignore.