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.