Fidget

I am clumsy. Well, I am. In the past week, I have broken three ceramic vases, a steel reinforced mechanical door (and it's respective locking mechanism), fallen out of my own chair, and tripped over my own feet more times than I can recall. Sadly, I can't blame it on my sobriety because sadly I am not under the influence of anything. I am just wired to be the one person on earth with the least amount of grace or stability possible. I am not the kind of clumsy that Disney instills in it's heroines to endear her to the hearts of millions. I am not clumsy because my team of writers decided that I had to have one character flaw amid all of my amazing attributes. No, not me I am endlessly, tirelessly, clumsy. I'm the kind of clumsy that can break a priceless porcelain anything from across the room just by thinking about it.

My clumsiness knows no boundaries, and the possibilities of breakage and personal injury are limitless. I'm fidgety, I need to touch everything I come into contact with. I need to pick it up and hold it in my giant, clumsy hands. I need to bring it closer to my face so that I can see it clearly. I need to manipulate it in a way it wasn't meant to be forced. I need to break things, it is a compulsion that is hardwired into my genes. My gracelessness doesn't even stop in the realm of breakable objects. I hurt people all the time. I forget people even exist sometimes, because my clumsy brain loses the information. I insult people in crowded restaurants because my clumsy tongue can't find a tactful way to say anything. I am insensitive and I can't properly sit in a chair without falling out of it. I guess that's two more things to add to the list of things you don't like about me.