I fell down them this morning. After sitting at the bottom crying for a little while (and frightening the girls by doing so, I'm afraid), I carefully dragged myself into the bathroom and from a sitting position pressed a cold washcloth over my left foot, which was the only thing feeling any sharp pain. Eventually it stopped. Only after I got home from taking the girls to school did I begin to feel the deeper bruisings.
Some days are like this. You take steps you've taken everyday for weeks, months, years. You do everything the way you've always done it, and suddenly a stair worn smooth is taken with a little too much nonchalance, and you find yourself landing in a battered heap at the bottom. You relieve the immediate damage, but later find yourself the unexpected recipient of steady pain. It accompanies you throughout the day, purple bruises rising through the flesh, messages from the interior.