Note to self: jump out, not just down.

If you need proof of the importance of that universal fact — newly discovered to me, too — just look at the raspberry on my rib cage.

Why was I jumping in the first place, you might ask.  Good question, and one for which I have no sensible answer.  Indeed, I asked that question myself about halfway down when I realized I had time to take a second breath.

My guardian angel must have been getting whiplash from shaking her head on my logic for this one.  I wonder if she knew ahead of time what I was planning to do.

Jumping from high rocks into the lake sounded like fun; the top of the rocks looked closer to the water when I was looking up at them; and once I was at the top, I couldn't be a chicken and walk back to the bottom.  Besides, another person jumped first, and he was fine.

Like I said, no good answer, but I jumped anyway.

When I jumped, I didn't make it out into the lake quite far enough.  Luckily for me, my feet hit first, slowing me down and lessening the impact of my ribs on rocks that I thought were far enough below the water to avoid hitting.

"Oh, I'm hitting rocks," I thought.

Then, "Oh, there's the muddy bottom," as I uncurled to kick back to the surface.

It wasn't until later, when the air stung my ribs, that I realized I had scraped myself on one of the rocks.  If I had hit the water differently, I could have hit my head, my back, my neck or anything else vital and easily injured.

I should be more worried about it (i.e. my decision-making faculties).

But the fact of the matter is, I didn't permanently injure or kill myself and learned to jump out from the edge.  Now I know for next time.

Somewhere my guardian angel is shaking her head again, wondering when I'll learn the real lesson.

At least I told her thank you for all her hard work.