So yesterday I felt like those little seeds on dandilions had attached themselves and were scraping their initials in red lines along the insides of my eyeballs. Thus, I did not want to wear contacts to soccer. So I wore my glasses and discovered, the hard way, why it is people don't wear glasses to play soccer. Within about 30 seconds I took a ball to the face and my glasses snapped in two. Lame.
When I broke the two bones in my arm into four bones in my arm, with the ulna looking like it might come out and say hello any minute, I did not shed even a single tear. I just looked around, pointed at my crooked spot and said, "can someone take me to the hospital?" When I fractured my skull, to my best recollection, (which if I'm honest is none since I had a pretty significant concussion,) I did not cry. This winter when I jumped off a rock and landed with my binding missing raping me by about a quarter of an inch giving me a goose egg on my nanny, not a yelp, although I'm sure I busted out a fuck or two. Yet for some reason every time I get hit in the face with the ball, I cry.
I carried my glasses back to my bag, splashed some water on my face, and checked for cuts. In tact, but teary I returned to the group.
"I'm sorry, I don't know what it is, I just cry every time I get hit in the face. It doesn't even really hurt."
The guy who kicked the ball was looking like he might try to hide inside of his own skin behind a sheep, but said, "Yeah, I do that too every time I get hit in the face."
"Yeah it sucks." said another guy.
"Yeah, me too." Said another.
So apparently we're all wusses and I've learned not to play soccer in glasses.
WTF, me. #solareclipse2017
1 day ago