Black and Blue Weekend
This weekend has been a bruiser in every sense of the word.
Let's talk literally. Thursday, I was working on a castle I was building for my nieces, and while cutting through a mailing tube for one of the towers, I hit a particularly tough spot, and forgetting (how I'll never know) I was using a new blade on my exacto, I pulled through and wound up stabbing myself in the leg. It spurted and bled like a bitch for a total of one minute and then bruised ridiculously. It was totally weird, but since it didn't end in a trip to the emergency room, I was pretty happy, all things considered. Then, Saturday at Scott's first show in about five weeks, I decided to wear my cute new espadrilles. BAD Idea, apparently because there was just the tiniest lip off the dancefloor that twisted my ankle and sent me flying! The embarrassment of it all was a deep bruise to the spirit, which is barely paled by the HUGE bruise that covers my entire thigh, one just above my knee and another on my arm, all of which prompted my mom to assume I had gotten my ass kicked in a bar brawl!
So there's the literal version.
Now, to be more obtuse. I woke up yesterday morning apalled that someone might think I was drunk, hence my flying leap off the dancefloor. I don't know why, but it's probably because I do enjoy a good buzz, but there's nothing that bothers me more than a sloppy drunk. It's a leftover thing from my bartending days I think, when I was witness to too many people getting taken advantage of or acting like morons with the only excuse the following day being a giggly. "I was so fucked up!" Drunk people do fucked up things, no doubt (Hello Mel Gibson) but there are too many consequences to that behavior that bite you in the ass, and so the drunk excuse only goes so far. I had been drinking, no doubt, and I was fairly lit, but it was not the reason I fell, and though I'm sure no one even paid attention or will care past the moment, my embarrassment stayed with me for a while, and I felt young and small and silly.
Finally, as with all things that some people find a bit repulsive, I see the beauty in it, and the color of the bruises against my very white skin is quite lovely! It's very literally purple and blue with a slight bit of red. They're not the ugly brownish that they will become once they begin to heal and I've never has such crazy bruising, so I'm fascinated. Odd? Call me what you want, but that's the way I roll, I suppose.
In better news, the band sounded excellent and really tight, I enjoyed the company of friends, and the girls LOVED the castle. So I'll take a couple of accidental bruises for that. It happens.
Slightly a mess, but ok.
T
Let's talk literally. Thursday, I was working on a castle I was building for my nieces, and while cutting through a mailing tube for one of the towers, I hit a particularly tough spot, and forgetting (how I'll never know) I was using a new blade on my exacto, I pulled through and wound up stabbing myself in the leg. It spurted and bled like a bitch for a total of one minute and then bruised ridiculously. It was totally weird, but since it didn't end in a trip to the emergency room, I was pretty happy, all things considered. Then, Saturday at Scott's first show in about five weeks, I decided to wear my cute new espadrilles. BAD Idea, apparently because there was just the tiniest lip off the dancefloor that twisted my ankle and sent me flying! The embarrassment of it all was a deep bruise to the spirit, which is barely paled by the HUGE bruise that covers my entire thigh, one just above my knee and another on my arm, all of which prompted my mom to assume I had gotten my ass kicked in a bar brawl!
So there's the literal version.
Now, to be more obtuse. I woke up yesterday morning apalled that someone might think I was drunk, hence my flying leap off the dancefloor. I don't know why, but it's probably because I do enjoy a good buzz, but there's nothing that bothers me more than a sloppy drunk. It's a leftover thing from my bartending days I think, when I was witness to too many people getting taken advantage of or acting like morons with the only excuse the following day being a giggly. "I was so fucked up!" Drunk people do fucked up things, no doubt (Hello Mel Gibson) but there are too many consequences to that behavior that bite you in the ass, and so the drunk excuse only goes so far. I had been drinking, no doubt, and I was fairly lit, but it was not the reason I fell, and though I'm sure no one even paid attention or will care past the moment, my embarrassment stayed with me for a while, and I felt young and small and silly.
Finally, as with all things that some people find a bit repulsive, I see the beauty in it, and the color of the bruises against my very white skin is quite lovely! It's very literally purple and blue with a slight bit of red. They're not the ugly brownish that they will become once they begin to heal and I've never has such crazy bruising, so I'm fascinated. Odd? Call me what you want, but that's the way I roll, I suppose.
In better news, the band sounded excellent and really tight, I enjoyed the company of friends, and the girls LOVED the castle. So I'll take a couple of accidental bruises for that. It happens.
Slightly a mess, but ok.
T