True Story

As a fan of psychoanalytic critical theory, I firmly believe that
there are things going on in my mind that I can't know. Things below
the surface. The image I get when I think about it is of machinery
working under a smooth surface of water.

An example: one of my professors liked to tell the story of how he was
always losing his keys. He'd find them in weird places, like the
freezer, under the dog bowl, in the linen closet, etc. His theory was
that subconsciously he rejected the responsibility the keys
symbolized, and so his subconscious "made" him "lose" them.

(As a sidebar, have you ever noticed how the number of quotation marks
expands exponentially whenever critical theory is in use?)

Anyway, I think my subconscious pulled one on me last night.

K and I were having one of those emotional conversations that happen
sometimes in relationships. You know what I mean. They start with
angry voices and end with weeping and kissing. (And if you don't know
what I mean--if this is unique to my relationships, I don't really
want to know that, so just keep your comments to yourself.)

Let me set the scene: I was sitting on the edge of the bed, about to
disclose something that is extremely difficult for me to talk about.
Because I was nervous and looking for something to do with my hands, I
leaned over to push in the bureau drawer, about two feet away from
where I was sitting.

But somehow, I managed to lose my balance, fall off the bed, grasp at
the bureau, lose my balance again, and fall down to hit my cheekbone
on the (still) open bureau drawer. It was exquisitely humiliating,
causing me to huff and cry and laugh and grab the side of my head.

I think the deep machinery was trying to keep me from disclosing by
making me lose my balance.

It didn't work, by the way, and the conversation did end up with kissing.

And a nice swelling on my cheekbone that nobody's commented on yet.