Self-Inflicted injuries
Spanishfly asks: Ever injured yourself in a moment of frustration? When have you ever done something stupid or sensible that has ended up with you injured? Punched an Asda sign because they didn't have tiger bread? Yeah, us too
This isn't a question about intentional self-harm
( , Thu 28 Nov 2013, 13:06)
Spanishfly asks: Ever injured yourself in a moment of frustration? When have you ever done something stupid or sensible that has ended up with you injured? Punched an Asda sign because they didn't have tiger bread? Yeah, us too
This isn't a question about intentional self-harm
( , Thu 28 Nov 2013, 13:06)
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Ricochet
English being the only subject at secondary school that I felt remotely confident in, I used those precious hours to break out of my uber-nerd persona and become the very epitome of cool.
At least, that's how it seemed to me as I leaned my chair back to put my feet up on my desk in what must surely have been the coolest move since Fonzie invented the double thumbs up during a particularly surprising sexual encounter. Everyone would doubtless be blown away by my relaxed, easygoing charm and staggering physical ability in keeping the front two legs of my chair suspended inches above the dusty parquet.
As those who hadn't turned up for class distressingly, swottily early (i.e. everyone but me) started to file into the room, I let my head loll backward to show just them how much I didn't care.
Just as, no doubt, every girl in the room immediately became aware of my disdainful brilliance, the light caught my eye and my sinuses twinged - just - so.
Sucking up air with the force of a Rolls Royce turbine, I launched forward into a titanic sneeze, folding in half like some kind of demonic castanet and double-kneeing my forehead with laser precision.
Ricocheting back from my powerful patella-prangs, I reeled backward, flailing arms and teetering in space as I reached, then inched past the point of balance as the chair arced on its two spindly metal legs.
I went over, cracking my head on a bookshelf and then collapsing in an angular, twisted heap on the floor, the chair perched delicately atop like some kind of idiot-garnish.
The silence that rushed in was just as quickly dispelled by a gale of laughter.
I resisted the urge to get up and shout 'taa-daa', and settled for covering my beetroot face with my crashingly unfashionable curtain haircut.
Length? Just below the ears.
( , Thu 28 Nov 2013, 17:50, 5 replies)
English being the only subject at secondary school that I felt remotely confident in, I used those precious hours to break out of my uber-nerd persona and become the very epitome of cool.
At least, that's how it seemed to me as I leaned my chair back to put my feet up on my desk in what must surely have been the coolest move since Fonzie invented the double thumbs up during a particularly surprising sexual encounter. Everyone would doubtless be blown away by my relaxed, easygoing charm and staggering physical ability in keeping the front two legs of my chair suspended inches above the dusty parquet.
As those who hadn't turned up for class distressingly, swottily early (i.e. everyone but me) started to file into the room, I let my head loll backward to show just them how much I didn't care.
Just as, no doubt, every girl in the room immediately became aware of my disdainful brilliance, the light caught my eye and my sinuses twinged - just - so.
Sucking up air with the force of a Rolls Royce turbine, I launched forward into a titanic sneeze, folding in half like some kind of demonic castanet and double-kneeing my forehead with laser precision.
Ricocheting back from my powerful patella-prangs, I reeled backward, flailing arms and teetering in space as I reached, then inched past the point of balance as the chair arced on its two spindly metal legs.
I went over, cracking my head on a bookshelf and then collapsing in an angular, twisted heap on the floor, the chair perched delicately atop like some kind of idiot-garnish.
The silence that rushed in was just as quickly dispelled by a gale of laughter.
I resisted the urge to get up and shout 'taa-daa', and settled for covering my beetroot face with my crashingly unfashionable curtain haircut.
Length? Just below the ears.
( , Thu 28 Nov 2013, 17:50, 5 replies)
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