Memory Monday:

If you haven't yet heard of Amazon's 'glitch' about removing sales ranking from LGBT books go to eurOut or go to AfterEllen to read about it.

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Easter is really screwing with my time line. I didn’t realize it was Monday (so I also totally forgot that yesterday was Sunday – as in Sapphic Sunday. Sorry about that.). Being on Easter Break has been nice – especially due to the lovely weather – but it’s time to get back on track.


This Monday I would like to honor my scars, cuts and bruises. Or maybe just my clumsiness.



I have a (very) bad habit of falling over my own feet. Or just being unlucky in the presence of pebbles, branches, slippery floors, water puddles or couches. And bicycles. But I always seem to remember which caused what scar.

When I was about a year my father dropped me on the kitchen floor (by accident – I was wearing nylon pants and so was he (it was the 70s!?!) and I slid down of his knee while he was trying to put me in my jacket). I still have a bump on my forehead.

When I was 2 ½ years old I fell of the couch (while jumping on it) and hit my head on the coffee table. That gave me a scar above my left eye.


At the age of 5 I fell and landed on a stone (which lay on a dust road behind my parents’ house) and cut a hole in my right knee. Scar.

At 11 I crashed with a classmates BMX bicycle and scraped my entire left side while sliding across the asphalt. And I had a concussion. Small, but still. That hurt like hell!




When I was 12 I wanted to jump across a water puddle. That didn’t turn out pretty either. I landed on the side of my left foot, and sprained it. Not enough for me to use crutches, but it was painful. And the beginning to my three-legged years. From the age of 13 to 16 I spend more than half of my life walking with help from crutches. My left foot barely heeled before I sprained it again. (And often just by stepping on the tiniest, littlest stone – or even looking at one). Those were the days…





I had my drivers license when I was 19. The same year I bought my motorcycle. And in the summer of that year I thought it was a brilliant idea to ride said motorcycle wearing nothing but shorts and T-shirt (and my helmet of course). And it all went well. Right up till the time I wanted to park the motorcycle. For some odd reason I had to slide down the wrong way (on the right side of the motorcycle) which caused a sever burn of my right calve muscle. The exhaust pipe was pretty damn hot even if I hadn’t been on a very long ride. Surprisingly the scar is not as visible as I would have thought it to be today, but then again it has been a few years since the accident.

I have had numerous cuts and burns on my hands. (I am clumsy and should probably not be trusted with a knife, but I really enjoy cooking, so… And my oven and/or stove seem to have a grudge against me. At least they keep burning me…)


But not all my scars are self-inflicted. I actually have two scars on my right hand from where my ex-husband cut my fingers with a handsaw (unintentional).



When I was 6 I had chickenpox. Multiple scars. (They were very itchy)

When I was 11 I had my appendix removed. It was kind of an emergency operation, so apparently there wasn’t much time to cut it out neatly. [My sister’s scar from when she had a c-section is smaller. But then again, there isn’t much difference between a child and an appendix, right?]

I have had surgery a few times (besides the appendix). Mostly in my knees. More specifically my meniscus – in both my knees.

I have broken my right wrist once (by slipping on some ice). And sprained it as well.

And I have broken my left wrist, by slipping on the kitchen floor.

It’s true. Most accidents happen in the kitchen ;o)


Have a nice day.