We all wear signs about our fragility in different ways, whether it is by sarcastic comments in order to keep suitors at bay, or the more tangible vulnerability. For me, it seems my physical representation is all too present.
Perhaps it is due to my lack of iron or the brightness of my ‘alabaster’ skin – but bruises are an ever lasting remnant. From bumping into a table, Zoe playfully and excitedly jumping on me – I bruise. And not just the small kind, the big colorful ones. It’s attractive, I know, and because it happens so frequently I don’t even notice when I do something that will cause a mark.
As I’ve been hobbling around today, I can see that my little toe (the one that cried all the way) is seriously crying right now. Somewhere in the course of Friday night to Saturday, I severely hurt it. It appears more bruised and swollen every time I look at it, and I’m starting to heed Ixi’s claim that it will turn black and fall off. The sad thing is that I must have dropped something on it, or forcefully smacked it into something, but I cannot think of any instance which would have caused this.
The lesson here is that I am not as invincible as I may appear, and something I should consider more often – if you grab my arm you will undoubtedly leave a mark, a lesson that BK learned when after a few beers at altitude we collided and I developed a black eye. Careful with me please, I’m fragile.
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