Disposable me

Although I've managed to escape some of the clutch of mental debilities which go under the umbrella of "widow's brain" (notably the lack of concentration with prevented several peers from pleasure reading for a year or more), I seem to be in the clutches of one which could best be described as a mismatch between my mental map of my body and its actual dimensions.

I knew a woman with this problem during my final year of college. She was always causing herself small injuries. I've also heard of it happening to people who have recently gained or lost a sizable amount of weight. Maybe my sister had some form of it, too; we always mocked her for being a klutz.

Or maybe it's not that at all but a lack of concentration manifesting itself in another way. All I know is that, in addition to routinely colliding with objects (like doorframes) that I've successfully avoided for most of my life, recently I've also:

• Stabbed my index finger while cutting cheese
• Gashed a different finger closing an umbrella
• Split open my little toe on a barbell
• Stubbed my finger on a countertop

And it's not like I've become more devil-may-care with my body in general now that I'm no one's caregiver. I still hold onto railings and posts someone unnecessarily to avoid failing and in general pay a great deal of attention to where I stick my feet. I'm careful leaping obstacles (I broke my wrist once doing that) and I try not to overexert myself.

So what really is the problem with me? Maybe my doctor will have some ideas tomorrow.