I’m a klutz with a tendency towards unintentional self-harm. It’s not like I seek out to physically hurt myself. I’m not one of those emo kids who writes dark poetry and cuts myself to feel. No. It’s called navigating the world while being Anne. For example, no I don’t know how I got the bruise the size of a baseball on my leg but I’m sure it was awesome and thus I blocked it out of my memory.

Mack likes to say if he looks at me funny I will bruise and be black and blue for a week. I wish I could say this was a joke but at any given time I have at least five bruises on my body and a flesh wound of some sort. I mean I do have a tendency to walk into doors in the middle of the night.

Although I still maintain it jumped out at me.

I know that I’m a klutz and know I shouldn’t be handling anything that could potentially hurt myself. I know this…

Cue my latest act of stupidity and self harm from today.

I crashed up at my parents the other day and unfortunately left my razor for shaving at their house (Mack would like it to be noted that it used to be his razor. I point out it was his until he decided he had to have the black one thus giving me his old one). I’m not one of those free-loving females who likes to be one with her body and have all sorts of body hair unchecked all over my body. All the power to you if you like hairy armpits and legs but I simply can’t tolerate it.

This afternoon when I was taking a shower (shut up, I’m still unemployed and doing freelance gigs thus pj’s are a morning must) I realized yet again my misfortunate of having no razor. But wait!, I brilliantly thought, I had the replaceable heads I could hold in my fingers and shave my armpits!

I bet you know where this is going.

Fortunately for me I was able to shave without incident. So why’d I have to tempt fate and decide to clean the razor in the sink? By tapping the razor blade with my fingers. Yes. Tapping. With my fingers.

A few taps in the slight stinging sensation on my middle finger alerted me that I had, yet again, managed to mutilate myself. As I rushed to stop the bleeding I silently screamed to myself, ‘Why me?’ And ‘why does water make it hurt MORE?!’

I swear to you: I should buy stock in band-aids. With the rate I go through them I could be a very happy investor by the time I hit 30… if I don’t accidentally kill myself first.

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