i’ve decided to start documenting my injuries, mostly because i am fascinated by bruises and cuts, the kinds of colors and textures my body can produce (like, the other day i found a strange hair and i kind of wanted to keep it). moreover, i just can’t believe how frequently i am both injured and injurer.
when i was younger i went to extreme lengths to hide my eczema-induced scratches, scabs, and scars. it wasn’t until midway through high school that i started wearing short sleeved shirts in public. it took me even longer to wear shorts, skirts and dresses. and don’t even get me started on bathing suits.
even now i don’t fully understand why i did this, except that i distinctly remember feeling shameful and leprous as a kid when my classmates would ask me if what i had was contagious, and this was not at all alleviated as an adolescent (jesus, middle school kids are exceptionally cruel) or as a teenager.
i guess this represents some sort of progress, being able to openly and proudly gross people out.
01. this one happened yesterday during my beast of a seven hour shift. i had a small confrontation with the ice machine door, and it won:
please stay tuned for the next installment of “man vs machine,” which will involve a fiasco with any of the following: the hot water dispenser; the cash register; the blender; or the cup sealer.
02. this is actually more of a series because some of these scratches are older than others, but the biggest (and most painful looking) one is the newest; i saw it this morning. for the last week or so i’ve been having crazy dreams and waking up with scratches on my arms, legs and around my collarbone and shoulders. i can’t remember any of them, but i wonder what kinds of crime i was fighting.