When bad luck strikes: My darkest hour

Yes, it always seems like I only trip when I’m in a really good mood and that whenever I’ve been having a good day, I run into the turnstiles outside the AMRs. While my natural clumsiness has acclimatized me to this fact of life, there are certain aspects of Hopkins that have really helped transform these experiences from a mere nuisance into a truly spectacular display of stupidity. I don’t quite know what it is about happiness that seems to attract bad luck, but I’ve come to associate one with the other. If I’ve gotten a good grade on a test, I know I’m about to walk into a glass door. If I’m listening to some really good music, I know that I’m about to stab myself on a pen while reaching into my backpack.

Last Wednesday was a good example of this. It was colder than I liked, especially because I had just put away all my winter clothing in an optimistic fit of spring cleaning. The flowers were out though, and I couldn’t help but admire their resilience as I shivered under three layers of T-shirts. I had just had an exam that morning and was feeling pretty good about it, so naturally “Walking on Sunshine” was stuck in my head, which was annoying partly because it was hard to keep myself from awkwardly skipping down the crowded path.

Of course all this smile and sunshine was simply too good to be true. Not 10 seconds into the chorus, I stumble over what I can only assume was a particularly cruel ghost and dive into the ground.

So hello to anyone out who was in front of Gilman last week and saw the 5’1” white girl pull up a solid inch of grass with her teeth after falling into it head first. Please don’t judge me too much, and you’re welcome for giving you a great story to take back to your friends.

It was truly an impressive fall though, and believe me I have some high (low?) standards for making a fool out of myself in public.

Clearly this was my own fault for giving into happiness; I know what it does to me. It degrades my senses, lowers my reaction time and while uplifting at first, it ultimately throws me into a spiral of sadness as I attempt to pick myself up with dignity while discreetly pulling grass from my teeth. Don’t do happiness kids, all you end up with is a purple knee and the knowledge of what dirt tastes like.

Before Hopkins I liked to think that I was of about average intelligence, but knowing that I go to a school out of which so many future doctors will emerge, I no longer hope that is true. I can barely keep track of my own feet at all moments, let alone other people’s limbs and bodily functions. I really hope surgeons don’t constantly run into the problem of their feet being not quite where they remember putting them. Can you imagine the lawsuits if surgeons were just constantly tripping in the middle of operating rooms?

So maybe it’s a good thing that I don’t quite understand how I ended up at (what I’m constantly reminded is) a top 10 school. I mean if everyone was like me... Well, there would certainly be a lot less grass. So if you ever see me around campus with my eyes shifty and my forehead creased with vigilance, don’t confuse it with anger or unhappiness. I’m probably just happy and worried that I’m about to impale myself on something.