Stop Picking on Me

I don't have a lot going on in my life. School, friends, ward, family--just a bunch of studying and hanging out, basically. One thing's for certain, though. Through all of this, I'm pretty good at beating myself up. One might think that I am slightly abused, but no, I take good care of hurting myself.

Let me explain. I think it started when I fell on the sidewalk of snow a couple months ago (I wrote about it in a post). Stacy was with me and said, "Luckily no one was around to see you fall," and then a girl walking by commented, "Yeah, I didn't see anything." On another occasion, I was in class with stadium seating. Class ended, I stood up to put on my coat, and I somehow ran into the table/desk next to me. I had a humongous bruise on my leg--one straight bruise (weird) from grazing (?) the desk and then a circular one from the ending contact point. That was hard to explain, but work with me. Okay, next are the bruises on my forearms from hitting the volleyball in my class. It was the first few weeks, so my arms were getting used to a ball hitting them. I then proceeded to fall on ice in our parking lot and bruised my tailbone pretty good. Back to volleyball--even though I wear knee pads, I have bruises around my knees from diving. And lastly, a 300-pound football player in my volleyball class didn't see me standing in front of him, and he was messing around with a ball and came down directly on my head. OW!

I'm just a walking target. There must be a sign attached to my forehead that says, "I'm having a pretty good day. How can I hurt myself?" or something along those lines. It's great.