How I suffer for art

Yesterday I fell off my bike. I was coming up to an intersection and I saw the streetcar with doors closed waiting at the light, I could see the light about to change so I increased my speed. Suddenly this guy darted out from the sidewalk in front of me, presumably to try and catch the streetcar. I braked and before I knew it I was heading straight over my handlebars, flying through the air, and then 'thunk' first my left hand, then my knee, my bicycle landing on top of me. This woman came out to help me up. 'I'm ok' I'm ok' and I hobbled off for a few blocks then got back on my bike and coasted the rest of the way home. When I got home I inspected my wounds. The worst was my hands. My tiny little soft hands! The pads on them were all swollen! I couldn't even use the left one. In fact, dear reader I am writing to you now in slight pain, but that is just how dedicated I am to you. I called my mom to get some sympathy (I'm the baby of the family) and she didn't disappoint. I was in pain when I went to bed and I discovered the Percocet that I kept from when I had my wisdom teeth extracted. Ooh what a find! I popped one and within an hour started to drift to sleep. I snuggled into bed and called it a night. When I woke up this morning I felt like the entire Circus had just performed a show over my body. Everything was stiff and sore. I got dressed and as I was dressing discovered all these new bruises. I huge one on the back of my leg, one on my back, my knees covered with them and of course, my cute little hand. Oh and did I forget to tell you that this fall happened on my way home from the dentist! Do I have your sympathy yet? Remember my cute little hands? Anything?