Oh, oohhhh, I really wanted that thing.

So nearly a full week after busting my ass, the bruise came to the surface. And it is BIG. And purple. There's a near-perfect horizontal line from where I went down and hit the edge of the stair, than there's an amorphous blob above that, probably from when I slid down four or more of the stairs. It's grotesque. dommeyourass noticed last night as I was getting undressed for bed. I was afraid to look at it more than once last night, but today I've looked at it several times. I don't have a fetish for marks or bruises, which means sometimes I enjoy them, sometimes I don't, sometimes it's both. I don't know where I stand on this one yet.

I feel slow-moving and morose and heavy and the last thing I want to do is ride my bike somewhere and would rather take the bus to lincoln park, but I should follow my own advice and ride anyway because I'm sure I will be in much better spirits if I do.

Oh, and the finanical aid office at my school finally caught up to me so I need to get on taking care of that, which means digging out tax forms, filling out the new forms plus writing some narrative about how my finanical situation has changed, i.e. "I no longer have said full-time income so please don't make me contribute any of my own money". I've had some good conversations with people yesterday about life choices and work and career and money that were very supportive and validating, but still. I hate money.