With Someone Like Me, Who Needs Enemies?

[chronographia]

my capacity to injure myself is a source of continual amazement. my hands, like many artists'hands, are mostly bone and tendon, long gangly things. i have managed to find some part of my knuckles to leave a big bruise mark on. knuckles don't bruise, not really. they're more known for inflicting bruises. but the black-purple patch on my right hand says otherwise.

this would also be the hand whose wrist i sprained on friday. using the mouse today is . . . interesting.

edited to add: i take it back. the mouse and keyboard are fiendish torture devices, devised to make me suffer. bastards.