I worked too hard, cooked too much, stayed up too late, indulged beyond reason, and thrashed my immune system. I always forget that I am technically fragile, and should restrict my actions or risk some health consequence.
This time the curse has taken the form of bleeding hands. Fun!
Possibly the only thing more fun than having this mysterious stigmata is using the bleeding knuckles to do my taxes. Especially given that I’m self-employed, need to file in two countries with tax years that do not match, and …. etc.
My life is filled with excitement and glamor!
Speaking of which, last night someone pointed out that my music collection includes no love songs whatsoever. I was quite huffy – what, Elliott Smith isn’t romantic?!
But then I was able to dredge up some John Denver and Stevie Wonder, so my reputation was saved.