In other news, Gravity wtfpwns Bob. My house is on a slight (~5%, maybe?) grade, which gently slopes down toward the street. This becomes important in a sec, read on.

Anyway, I managed to injure myself Friday in a rather -uh- interesting fashion. As a result of the Valiant’s nonworking alternator, we have been having to recharge its battery from our household electrical system, using a battery charger between trips. Anyway, when I got home from dropping my dad off at work, I managed to run over the negative terminal clamp for the charger.

“No big deal,” thought I, walking back over to the driver’s seat. “I’ll just put it in neutral and let it roll a few feet.” Well, needless to say, a 1971 Plymouth Valiant isn’t exactly a Dodge Colt. It’s a great deal heavier. To compound the problem, I’m a bit of a clutz, and I wasn’t exactly ready for the vehicle not to stop when I put my weight into slowing it. I went for the brake, naturally, and slipped, fell on the ground, and was dragged a few feet before rolling under the open driver’s side door and just letting the car roll on off down the driveway.

Fortunately, it hadn’t collected much speed, and it stopped only a few feet out into the street. I was then able to fire it up, put it in position, and hook it up to the charger.

The only thing wounded, aside of my pride, was my right wrist, which hurts like the devil for some reason. I don’t think it’s broken or sprained. I probably just need to rest it, which, of course, I don’t have time for. *sigh*

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