Missing Skin

My colleagues are really nice. I walked into work minus my glasses on Wednesday or Thursday and was told that I looked “weird”. Charming.

I played footy on Wednesday. It was cold this week and it’s the first time this winter that we’ve had frost on the cars in the morning. It had been raining a bit and then gone cold so the astroturf was like concrete. You know when you have a bad feeling about something?

I reached for a tackle and was off balance. The guy I was running alongside makes up for a lack of finesse by hitting things hard, whether that be the ball or my back with his shoulder as I was leaning forward anyway. I’d developed a technique of hitting astroturf in such a way that I could somersault my way out of fall, thus avoiding injury to the major joints in my limbs. This time however, I put my arms in front of my chest and skidded on them.

I got home and had to go in the bath to clean my wounds. I sat in the bath so long only soaking minimal parts of my legs that I started to get cramp in my thighs. I’d managed to clean my wrists, the knuckles of each little finger and my elbows after carefully removing the skin that was making a valiant yet ultimately futile attempt to stay in the same place in which it had residence less than two hours earlier.

I finally plucked up the courage to submerge my knees. The problem was, once they were clean, and therefore not full of sand, they were still wet if not necessarily bleeding by the morning.

I’ve been wandering round like a need a double knee replacement ever since.

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