It's a Mystery

Last weekend, Joe and I spent Friday and Saturday night at Joe's aunt's house. His mom was housesitting for his aunt and uncle and we decided to camp there for the weekend since it was so much closer to Holly's wedding. After I went to bed Saturday night, I noticed my right knee was mildly throbbing. I pulled up the leg of my pajama pants to check it out and noticed for the first time that day that my knee was bruised and swollen and about a square inch of it was caked in dried blood. "Curious," I thought to myself. "Um, Joe, did I at any point today say, 'ouch, my knee,' or mention hurting my knee, or perhaps was I rendered temporarily unconscious?". "No." So basically, I did some serious damage to my knee on Saturday and have no memory of when, what or why. And before you go blaming the wedding's open bar, at no point on Saturday was I drunk. At least not so drunk that I would be unaware of slamming my knee in a car door, or falling down, or walking into a tree or anything else that could possibly explain this level of damage. So basically, my knee at some point on Saturday spontaneously combusted.

Then I woke up this morning to my right (same) knee seriously aching. It felt like I'd twisted it. It's still aching, even now, as I sit with my legs propped on a footstool at my local Starbucks while I munch on a pumpkin scone, typing this, when I should be reading the next 20 pages in my Constitutional Law book. But that is really beside the point. The point is, my knee hurts again. For no reason. My bed is not pushed against the wall, there is no debris in my bed, there is nothing I could have banged it against or caught it upon. And if I did twist my knee in my sleep, what the hell am I doing in my sleep? Oddly contorting apparently. At least that's not as strange as the fact that Joe can't sleep with a sheet on the bed. He falls asleep with a sheet and a blanket and the next morning the sheet will be twisted in a ball at the bottom of the bed and he will be curled up under the blanket only. How does he do that? This is why we will never be able to have nice bed linens. Because he's a sheet baller and I oddly contort.

Anyway, this reminds me of the times in college, when my friend Sara would come downstairs with mysterious bruises and injuries because she kept banging herself and her parts against the wall in her sleep, until one day she banged her face into the wall and then kept complaining all day, "my face hurts." Now imagine it high-pitched and in a Southern accent. Now I'm sorry I made fun of her because my knee hurts! Only my situation is worse because at least there was some explanation for Sara's injuries. My knee hurts for no reason. Also, while we're on the subject, hey Sara, why didn't you just move your bed away from the wall? Why did that never occur to us? It's amazing the kind of clarity you can have six years later.

So here's hoping, six years from now, I'll finally have the clarity to know what the hell I did to my damn knee. Also, that I'll finally have found a sheet set that can contain Joe. Also, that I meet someone that says "oh hey, I remember you, you're the girl that banged her knee into that door on October 10, 2009 causing it to bruise and swell and bleed!" And I'll say, "THANK YOU, kind sir, that has been bothering the hell out of me for six years now!" Seriously, how did it happen?