Hey, ever wake up with phantom bruises? I got a few good ones over the course of last week and I have absolutely no idea where they came from. The two big ones are on my left bicep -- one was just a little smidge and has faded but Saturday I woke up with a real corker. It's the size of a large finger, has a nice tanned tint to it, and a few purple bits on one end where, one presumes, the contact was made initially. It's kind of sore, but not really. Only when I press on it to see if it's still kind-of-but-not-really sore. And I have absolutely no idea where I got it from.
Sure, there was booze involved Friday, but I don't remember any arm-related trauma, nor any situations where I'd have put the ol' bicep in any bit of peril. Like the 99 dead baboons in Tim Cavanaugh's song, I woke up one day; there it was. There are those who believe phantom scrapes and bruises are caused by aliens who abduct you in the middle of the night and then put you back almost slightly put together again, but I don't believe that. I would believe the leprechauns stole me away for a quick game of Gin Rummy and things got a bit out of hand after the fourth hand in a row where we all had a 3S-8S run for some strange reason, though.
I guess if anything, it's a nice reminder that we are all but flesh and blood and sometimes the blood goes up under the flesh and makes an interesting overripe banana color.
Also of note is this fine message Pine gave me today after four days of not checking one particular email address:
[400 new messages! Most recent from Araceli Mitchell]
All but one were completely of no use to me. I think someone's procmail recipes got munged.