"Well, I always run the risk of falling on my face, which has in fact happened."

It happened again! Second time. I could not control my walking. I started out at 4:30 AM and decided to take a different route. After 20 minutes, I felt like I was leaning forward and my footsteps were just enough to counter a possible fall.

Now, I know walking (running) is just a form of controlled forward falling, but normally one can stop whenever one wants to, but this, this was alltogether different. In spite of my desire to try to walk upright, I continued to bend forward and my feet began to act on their own. My strides became shorter and shorter and I had to walk faster and faster to keep from falling forward.

At one point, I had to break into an ugly little jog to remain on my feet. I grabbed at a pole, the kind of plastic pole that sticks up from a fire hydrant, but I couldn't stop moving as I circled the hydrant like a man possessed. Fortunately, there were no spectators, it being so early in the morning, for they'd have thought me a drunk.

When I finally stopped my orbit of the hydrant, I rested for a couple of minutes and began a slow walk home, without success. Again I was bent forward and my walking steps turned into the devil's jog until finally, after crossing a road, I pitched forward into the snow, where I remained for several minutes before getting up and going to a nearby bus stop where there was a bench to give me some relief. Again, fortunately there was no audience. I was still a half mile from home, I'd forgotten my cell phone; otherwise, I would have called my wife (who was home sick) or one of my kids, to pick me up. Alas, that could not be.

With maximum effort and determination, I chose a slow shuffle to the next bus stop and its welcoming bench, rested and then made the way home without incident. However, the effort required to prevent falling while removing my heavy winter clothing made balancing on a bosu ball seem simple - a piece of cake - as "they" say.

I was fine after a few minutes of relaxation reading the morning paper. Nobody was awake to see me, which was good, because I must have looked like Bram Stoker's description of the Count.... deathly pale, just like a waxen image, and the red eyes glared with the horrible vindictive look which I knew so well....

And vindictive I must have looked, for I have an aversion to not being in control, not being able to walk properly and I tend to blame it on PD.

I remember a saying by Confucius to the effect that our greatest accomplishment is not in our falling but in our getting up every time we fall, or something like that. You get the picture.

I don't!!