Woodland Creature

So, pretty much all I can think/talk/write about is my busted face (“busted” as in “actually busted up,” not “slang word for ugly,” although that too, maybe). Possibly because I’m obnoxiously self-absorbed but probably because it hurts a lot, so I’m pretty much forced to think about it every time I open my mouth or move or even just lay still. So, like, every second of the day.

My entire left arm is also in pain because I had to get a tetanus shot, since I scraped my face on the damn New York City sidewalk and Lord knows what kind of nastiness was able to seep into my body, as a result. I don’t know if I’ve ever gotten one before, but tetanus shots are more painful than other vaccines because they stab it into the muscle in your shoulder and now the entire muscle in my upper arm hurts a lot, all the way to my elbow. I know I have a low tolerance for pain and Advil is not helping.

The only good thing about bashing your face is that strangers are kind of extra nice to you. I was worried everyone would basically run away from me screaming and small children would cower in fear, but people actually give me concerned looks. I feel like they might think someone beat me up. I thought maybe the doctors at the clinic would try to interrogate me about whether I was a victim of domestic violence, but they didn’t ask anything like that. So now I am kind of concerned that actual victims are going to the doctor saying they “fell down” and “hit their faces on the sidewalk” and no one is finding out what really happened and helping them.

Today, I went to brunch with my parents and as we were sitting down, I told them, “Someone asked me if I got in a bike accident and I was like, ‘YES. Let’s go with that.’” The host, a tall, skinny, hipstery guy with tattoos on his arms, overheard and I saw him laugh to himself. Then, when I was leaving, he was drying glasses at the bar but he smiled and waved at me. I smiled and waved back. But not too broadly, because that hurts.