I counted this morning and I have five mysterious bruises, all of which are on extremities, and all of which involved me running into furniture at some point. The most irritating one is on the back of my hand, which I got dancing like a moron in my dining room on Sunday with the Chicken Goddess (beer + internet radio = bruises, apparently), when I did the usual arm flailing thing that happens when I dance (I am a goth. This is how I roll.) and hit the edge of the table. The beer is the reason I didn’t notice the injury until this morning. The others are on my legs and feet, and came from attempting to make my way to the kitchen and bathroom in the dark (I must also divulge that I am a slob, too, and have brought this upon myself, completely).
And I keep poking the one on my hand, like you do when you’re a little kid.
I didn’t get any knitting done yesterday, either. I took it with me in my bag o’ stuff, expecting to have all day to sit and work on it, but after the informative video on what it means to do your civic duty and sit in a room with 200 other potential jurors, I got a headache and spent the rest of the time watching Let the Right One In on my iPod (so here’s a funny thing – demons? creepy. ghosts? creepy. vampires doing the same thing as the previous two beasties? not creepy. I don’t know why.), until they called my name and let me and about 50 other people go home.
My first socks may actually be my last socks, also. I’ll be on my deathbed, unable to pass on until I’ve woven in that final end (like, when I’m 90 – it’ll take me that long).