You broke the set now there's only singles

I have a perfectly triangular bruise under my hip. Sort of under where my pants stop and the pocket of my jeans would be. I've been in pain for days but I didn't know why until yesterday afternoon. Buttoning up the pencil skirt in a changing room, I glanced in the mirror to see if the colour looked alright on me and started at what peeked out from the undone material. Blues and yellows and greens. Stark against my pale skin. It's a fat isosceles and I have no idea how it got there. I run through the weekend. Yes I was drunk on friday and yes I did walk straight into my bin knocking novel attempts everywhere. But that was it. I always remember what I walk into and although sometimes I'm surprised it left a mark (like this one time I came back from Rob's covered in bruises but the end of the bed was disguised with some sort of cover and I was very tired) and I did not walk into anything at that height. I look like someone attacked me with a very odd shaped hammer.

Most peculiar.

On the plus side the skirt is wicked hot in a sort of librarian way. Pencil skirts usually make me look even shorter than usual. If there's one thing I don't need it's less height. But this one doesn't and now I am dreadfully poor. Paid for a beer with twenty pences and my lunch with fives.

I wish it was in a better place so I could share the sheer perfectness of my triangle. Branded by geometry. But alas, you'll just have to believe me.

Also: no clue what my hair is doing but it is hilarious. I have decided to ignore it until it's long enough to tie up. Otherwise I might get too sad.

Oh and one last thing. Julie went to a friend's house to play Assassin's Creed today and was telling me of her exploits. Namely: "I was supposed to blend in with some monks and instead I pulled out a huge sword and cut them all up" and "I was walking past this woman and I was all REEEEERH and she died"