The Woman Who Walked Into Doors

For clarity's sake, this is not Shifter. This is Katy.

I point that out, because I'm about to admit to being really clutzy, and I would hate for anyone to confuse me with the marathon-running, linux-box wrangling Shifter.

For the last six months I've been bruising with ludicrous ease. I suppose I should go and get blood tests or something, but until this month I didn't really realize it was so incredibly pronounced. Over the Thanksgiving holiday, I hit my shin getting into the tub, and it blossomed into the most incredible bruise. I mean a serious bruise, the kind that when you see it on a co-worker, inspires an ethical debate in your head about whether or not you should ask her if she has somewhere safe to go. I still have it--last week it was blue and green, and this week it's a deep wine-red.

Tonight I opened my car door in a tight space, lost my footing, and smacked my eye socket into the corner of the car door. And as I twisted heavily into the driver's seat with the kind of grunt that should really only accompany championship weightlifting, my thoughts were these:

1. Wow, that could have done some serious f***ing damage to my eye. I'm freaking lucky.
2. Oh, yeah, that's gonna leave a mark.

I'm home, not twenty minutes later, and there's already a dark mark over my eye. I'm taking bets on whether I'll have a shiner in the morning. I'll try to let y'all know. We'll see how ethical my co-workers are, too, while we're at it.

And nobody's allowed to take any photos of me this Christmas.

Also...ow.