Perhaps some people applauded me for sacrificing for my art when I bruised myself terribly practising ballet (Hole Series: Battle Scars).

That’s great. I’m happy to suffer for my art and I’m happy for people to admire me for it.

…

You do admire me for my great sacrifice, don’t you?

But I’m not so delusional as to believe that people will continue to admire me if I keep recounting such similar events.

So, today’s story is one of stupidity.

Over the weekend, I was practising a monologue which required me to crawl on my hands and knees. Remembering how fragile and bruise-prone my knees are, I told myself not to bear down on them too hard. That resulted in me sort of sliding gently around instead of “walking” on them. I was also wearing 3/4 pants, which I believed sufficient protection.

So I slid around on my knees and kept myself bruise free.

But barely a minute into my practice session, my pants rode up as I was sliding around and my room’s parquet flooring gave my right knee a good shining.

I felt a sharp burn and saw that a patch of skin had slightly sloughed off.

That was kind of painful. But the pain is nothing compared to the hideousness of the scab I have now.

This is one “battle scar” that’s gonna be staying with me for a while yet.

I don’t know how I got to be this stupid. How? Why?

You have my permission to laugh like a donkey.