I have a capacity for self injury, probably more than some and probably less than others. In childhood I managed to run down a path with a forgotten step, to fall into a rose bush and to run into a parked car.
In more recent years I have suffered swollen ankles from fast moving cricket balls, scraped hands from museum exhibits along with a propensity for being tasty food for biting insects.
This week I have been able to add to my list. At the weekend I slipped on my stairs and now have a purple, fist sized bruise on my arse and today I surpassed even myself I think. While doing the washing up.
I know you're thinking, perhaps a cut hand from a broken glass or plate, perhaps even picking up the blade of a sharp knife. No. I was injured by a piece of dry spaghetti. It had attached itself to the outside of a saucepan and so I tried to pick it off. A piece broke off and pushed itself under my thumbnail.
After a moment or so of shouting and cursing I remembered a pair of tweesers, and managed to pull it back out again, along with the requisite drop of blood.
Even I'm not too sure what to say sometimes.
ohh honey! Huge hug!
ReplyDeletePhilosophy will clip the wings of angels, James...
ReplyDeleteNow, enough about what you are reading. What's happening with your writing? p.s. how about a moody, introspective walk through the park with Scott Walker's 'Stormy' on the ipod?
I bet you haven't been bitten on the arse by an ant though.
ReplyDeleteTwice.