Look at me, Injury.

I'm going to go ahead and blame it on being the youngest in the family, but I have a knack for making a big deal out of very minor injuries. Big enough to point out bruises not easily observable by the naked eye. Big enough to sound like Tobias from Arrested Development. Enough to keep saying, "I threw up yesterday," while looking around for any sign of validation. It's my own damn fault really. My clumsiness has reached the point that at work I often feel like I'm just flailing about. Flail. Flail. For the betterment of society though, I thought it would be best to direct my whining and injury into something more productive. A little doodle perhaps?




Leaning down to put some of a friend's personal belongings into her car, thus helping her move, I launched the bridge of my nose into the ski rack on the roof of the car. Checking up on my injury I observed a swollen oval on the right side of my nosebridge and quickly moved to reduced the swelling. The result was a barely noticeable bruise that probably looked more like a pimple and ended up leaving behind a few blackheads as souvenirs of the event.



I had a massive headache Monday morning that echoed into Tuesday morning when I took one more migraine pill around 9:46am. For the next 24 hours the pill left behind a phantom lump in my throat collecting memories of all the things I swallowed that day (frosted mini spooners, green beans, risotto). It took two doses of hot tea (joy and then refresh) among two days to purge the collection.



The day before that though I threw up. I haven't done that in six years, not since freshman year when Bo and I collectively shut down both bathrooms in our hall. Those were the days. I sat this one out alone at around 6:23am Monday morning. Later that day I refused to let Jon eat the leftovers of what I deemed the cause of the hideous digestive crime.