random injury generator
Dec. 5th, 2003 01:00 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
the_siobhanI broke my nose last night.
This makes me very unhappy. Not because of the broken nose itself -- I've had one of those before. Not because of the pain -- It's not really very painful. Not because of the accompanying bumps and scrapes, or the fact that I will probably have a scar. Not the minor annoyance of having to wash blood out of my clothes, or the slightly less minor inconvenience of having to be careful when I put on my glasses in the morning. It's not even the fact that I have to breathe through my mouth -- which makes me feel slightly dorky -- the slightly nasal tone my voice has taken on, or even the disturbingly gorey things that happen when I sneeze.
No, I'm irritated because I know that for the next six weeks, people are going to be looking at my face and saying, "Dude! What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?" And I'm going to have to say, "No.
I fell off my bike."
Oh, the ignomy.
This makes me very unhappy. Not because of the broken nose itself -- I've had one of those before. Not because of the pain -- It's not really very painful. Not because of the accompanying bumps and scrapes, or the fact that I will probably have a scar. Not the minor annoyance of having to wash blood out of my clothes, or the slightly less minor inconvenience of having to be careful when I put on my glasses in the morning. It's not even the fact that I have to breathe through my mouth -- which makes me feel slightly dorky -- the slightly nasal tone my voice has taken on, or even the disturbingly gorey things that happen when I sneeze.
No, I'm irritated because I know that for the next six weeks, people are going to be looking at my face and saying, "Dude! What happened to you? Did you get in a fight?" And I'm going to have to say, "No.
I fell off my bike."
Oh, the ignomy.
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Confession time
Date: 2003-12-06 11:52 am (UTC)Not because I am of high moral fibre. Oh no.
But because I have an utterly crap memory.
I'll be right in the middle of the most gripping moments of my tale of defeating the soul-eating computer from the alternate future through the power of internet pr0n, and the person sitting on the other side of me will interrupt with a puzzled look and say, "Waitaminute. You told me you got that when you ran into the radioactive zombies in the secret tunnels under the Vatican basement." And that just spoils the whole flow.
It's a curse, I tell you.