Getting beaten up

This week has been an interesting one. Of the five different objects I have driven or ridden, only one of them has not attacked me. Of the four that attacked me, only one of them didn't hurt me. That one happened to be the only object with a brain. How's that for odd?
I knocked over the motorcycle four times this week. Three of those times I got a bruise, along with a bump on my shin from one of them. I whacked my elbow into the luggage bay door on the bus while trying to get the tire thumper out of it, thus making quite the lump there. And last night, my dad's car's trunk hit me in the hip. I feel black and blue all over. Yesterday, I was riding a horse, and something freaked her out, and she reared up on me. Lissa and Dusty were both terrified that she was going to buck me off, but Lissa got her calmed down pretty quick while I held on. Oddly enough, I wasn't that scared. Maybe it's the adrenaline rush, but when I'm facing certain pain and, or, death, I think more clearly, and fear doesn't take over. As it was, I did imagine myself being thrown, and wondered if it would hurt too badly, and braced myself for it, but most of me was just wondering exactly what to do. Thinking back, it was kinda cool. How's that for odd?
Anyway, so now I'm trying to move and shift very carefully so I don't accidentally hurt myself again by hitting or leaning on one of my many bruises. It's much more difficult than I would have thought.