being in pain is not my cup of tea. it hurts anytime i move either of my arms. have i mentioned how much i hate being clumsy? my left arm is still swollen and wonderful purple. i don’t know how i managed but it i’ve got about a dozen scratches on my left arm. . . it looks like i got into a fight with a rake. maybe i’ll have to fire-up the ol’ digicam and take a picture to show y’all. at lunch, kari was horrified when i showed her my arm. rightfully so, it’s pretty gross. she thought i fell outside because it’s so slick and melty out there. she lauged her head off when she realized that i tripped over my own feet in the my own hallway. i think my only saving grace is that i didn’t cry. granted, there was no one around so i could have bawled my head off. . . but i didn’t. i thought about crying, as i laid there with my arms at my sides and my cheek on the carpet. i even screwed up my fast and quivered my lips to start crying, but i talked myself out of it. i was afraid to move for the longest time. i was worried that i had broke something. but i survived as i always do.
reporter boy never called. i am feeling like a bit of a doormat, which pisses me off. i just don’t know what to do about men.