Often people ask me where I find the pictures for my blog. Well, dear readers, you can find anything on the internet. Last post, I typed in “The grass is greener”, added “images”, and found many possibilities to choose from. (I suggest you do not search “toy penis images”, however, because your search history will follow you forever.) Then I decide on the one picture that best complements my subject matter. Hopefully I’m not breaking all sorts of copyright laws in the process.
This image search is one of my favourite parts of posting because an image often makes the point clearer. But sometimes finding the perfect one is a challenge. If can’t find an appropriate image, I don’t want to post only text because, well, how boring is that?
With this in mind, I posted a fairly sad picture a while back. J., my voice of judgement and reason, felt a need to intervene. She nixed the sad pix and insisted on only happy images from then on. I’ve been trying, I really have. You may have noticed an increase in silly dog pictures, for example, or other frivolous imagery. But some posts just don’t lend themselves to rainbows and butterflies. If Sadness is okay, shouldn’t sad pictures be okay, at least sometimes? I don’t want to be a downer all the time, but can’t I be a downer every so often?
Even before this, J. had drawn one boundary that I’ve always respected: no pictures of my physical disfigurements. I thought time-lapse photography of the recent bruising from knee to cankle and into my foot might intrigue you, but she forbid me altogether. I guess if you’re not into those graphic medical shows, you might be grossed out. Thus, I will be forced to provide only a verbal description of the progression of my self-inflicted bruises, since I’m sure my words will disgust you less.
Women my age are often concerned about the effects of gravity on specific body parts. Science lovers or not, you all should understand gravity because at some point you learned about Isaac Newton and that apple. ( I’ve since discovered that Newton likely wasn’t hit by the apple but might have seen one falling. I preferred the bonk-on-the-head imagery myself.)
Always the outlier and not caring much about sagging body parts, I choose to obsess about gravity’s effects on my bruised lower body. Since I’m platelet impoverished, when I bruise, I swell, and this swelling has to go somewhere. So, just like the apple, the excess fluid travels down. In the process, a bruise that starts in one place, in this case my knee, eventually spreads throughout my lower leg and foot. Yes, rather than looking like I bumped into a bathtub, I look like I was thrown from a motorcycle.
J. was right: I really don’t need a photograph for you to get the picture. Just envision the current state of my swollen, discoloured leg as a physical representation of my drama queen persona.