Evolution and the laws of physics were double-teaming me that day.
The shift in body weight at this specific point in a curved stairway caused what is known as the "ass over tea kettle" effect, hurling me as though I were a dwarf at an Australian bar. I lunged like a clumsy ninja headfirst into a wall, where I crumpled like an accordion and fell victim to momentum's petty whims, tumbling around the curve in the staircase and down the remaining flight of stairs into another wall. It was as though my ass got kicked by every other part of my body, which it in turn kicked back at. Nothing didn't hurt. For a moment, I assumed I was going to die there in a Jim-Carrey-esque mishmash of humanity at the bottom of my stairs, blissfully free of dog poop, yet broken and beaten like the self-esteem of the main character midway through an '80s teen dramedy.
I lay there for some time, shifting slowly like a glacier, until I somewhat resembled myself again. My dog came to see if I was preparing food or not, but little else occurred. In time, I was able to battle back against the sinister forces of gravity and attain an upright status. And it was at this point that I decided enough of this shit, I was just going to sit and have some food and relax for the rest of the day, because obviously the day was not ready to accept me and all that I am. I prepared soup.