trinityvixen | Bruises shouldn't be there...

My arms have gotten quite the workout this week. They've been a tad achy since Wednesday, as on Tuesday I hefted heavy stuff around at work, restocking our newly mold-free cold room. Thursday was no exception, and I had to make it worse by carting around a gallon of milk and two two-liter diet pepsi bottles from the grocery store and CVS. Big fat hairy deal, right? I make that kind of tow once or twice a week, and I was even tempted to make it worse by picking up 3 12-pack of cans of Coke that were on sale because I have trouble controlling my impulses where cheap(er) soda is concerned (no kidding, I will walk out of my way to hit the vendors for $1.25 diet pepsi 20 oz'ers instead of going across the cafeteria for the $1.50 machine; I even price-shopped CVS on my way to the grocery store to see which had cheaper 2 liters).

Only the problem is, carrying heavy things with already achy arms, you're not at your fastest reaction-wise. Walking up the hill from Lexington along 97th street, I tripped and couldn't catch myself because my arms were slowed down by the bags I was carrying and were too sore to react as fast as they might have with that weight. I did what I did roughly fifteen years ago on my birthday: I caught myself on the chin and knee. A lady kindly stopped to see if I was okay, and I basically was, though my face was probably flaming (nothing hurt but my pride, which tends to bruise easily). I cracked half the eggs I'd bought when I dropped the bag with the milk on top of them, skinned my knee, my chin, and my cheek. I limped home and put alcohol on all of these places and then picked at my palms to get out the pieces of street that got embedded in them (still haven't got all of it, even after going at it with a needle). That stung the worst, besides the wounded pride, of course (I can't claim that there was a step or pothole I didn't see, I'm sure I just slipped in my flip-flops like I tripped over my own feet in second grade--luckily this time my chin didn't require stitches).

I'm sure I made a lovely impression on Lisa's friends who'd come over for emperor's new groove, tired, sweaty, looking like I'd gotten into a fight and lost (the red cheek was great), not to mention a bit reticent because I'd already had a head ache before I smacked my noggin into the cement). Last night, I had to keep adjusting so as not to put pressure on my chin because, though scabbed over, it was and is still sore. I woke up this morning to find a nice little bruise on my boob (what. the. fuck?) and thigh and my knee, not surprisingly, still hurts. I think I'll take the weekend to recover at home. A little trip to all-night Wal-Mart, central air...