You know those people who bruise easily? You know, the type where you just have to look at them a little harder than normal and they’ll be black and blue by morning?
I am not one of those people. Not at all. I just don’t really bruise at all, and it really annoys me, because I want there to be evidence. If I am injured then I want some kind of visual marker of my pain.
This is particularly on my mind at the moment because I managed to inflict some damage to myself on Saturday, whilst in Durham. I was standing in a lecture theatre chatting to JJ, I took a step backwards, and fell off a step that I didn’t realise was there. I fell into one of the lecture seat rows, banged my ribs on the shelf-desk, hit the back of my heel on one of the seats, and ended up on the floor, appearing (to many an onlooker) as if I had been the victim of an assassination attempt by a suspiciously located Associate Staff Worker who has previously been overheard plotting to take my job should I meet with some ‘tragic accident’ or another.
Well, allow me to assure all my readers that despite appearances, the aforementioned ASW bore no part in my fall (that was entirely the fault of my own clumsiness).
And, my body’s reluctance to show signs of injury continues, as despite the dramatic nature of my accident, and the pain that was (and still is) present, all I have to show for it is a couple of tiny, wee bruises.
Hardly seems right, frankly.
In summary: wanting something to show for it.