BLOOD, GUTS, AND RIPE MATERIAL

I am trying to do a project on my many scars and how I got them.  Some stories are spectacular, and some are rather mundane.  But the part that's most aggravating is the ex post facto memory.  It's not until after the project is complete and glued together that some of this stuff comes back.

I mean, how can I forget that I was hit in the face by an icy snowball while waiting for the school bus and showed up to Wilkins with blood all over my face and hands.  Or the summer I spent getting nails stuck into my feet through my flip-flops because Gail's sister Carol was building the worst tree fort in the history of tree forts.  Or that I careened down the Woodland Drive circular hill in a Radio Flyer and wiped out so badly that it took me three times as long to get home because I left so much flesh on the pavement.

Really, how can I possibly forget?  That's ripe material right there.  Good stuff. 

Oh well.  Next time, next time.  I'm sure I'll find fodder for it on some assignment.