I remember when I could stub my toes or bump into a table and think, “Oh, that’s going to bruise,” only to have it be fine. Sure, it hurt for a few minutes, but my young and healthy body shrugged it off.
Not now, though.
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Now, I have old hairline fractures in my feet that didn’t quite heal right and flare up when it rains, and random bruises everywhere.
The only bruise I can actually confirm a source for is the big one on my thigh.
That one is only just starting to fade nearly two weeks after I hit the sharp corner of a low table.
In my pathetic defense, my Christmas tree is up so I had to circle around a different way.
My muscle memory has no real experience avoiding the table from that direction.
But it will definitely remember now.
Seriously, though, just mentioning that bruise here seems to have reminded it to start throbbing again.
That’s probably silly, but as I tick up in age, so many bruises just seem to spontaneously appear that the idea of manifesting them with magical thinking isn’t the stretch it may have been in my twenties.
Isn’t getting old fun? Sigh.
