I wrote this a few weeks ago, drunk, after I’d bashed my head and nose whilst skiing. I was surprised how coherent it was considering.

It might seem like an odd topic, but I have been writing down a lot of things at the moment while I try to write my first novel; frequent writing is the best practice after all.

This passage is also true, whereas a lot of what I have been writing tends to have a few elements of fantasy incorporated. I haven’t posted in a while and I’m not sure where I would use this in a novel, so here it is, on the blog, just for you.

It’s a strange feeling when you look at yourself in the mirror and feel like you’re looking back at someone that’s not quite familiar. Today I bashed my nose (and head) in a skiing incident. I’m fine, thanks to my helmet, but my nose is sore.

This evening, I showered and applied make up and noticed that my nose appeared different. I have sufferered nose trauma once before at university when drunkenly running away from a potential suitor. I ran in to a lamp post and gave myself a black eye and a bump on the bridge of my nose. I never resented that bump, it was a necessary side effect of an escape well made.

Today’s infliction, however, has left me with a straighter and arguably more attractive nose. I hate it. I liked my face before. It was imperfectly adorable and mine.

If this new facial arrangement remains, I will get used to it also as a flaw, as a quirk, as a part of my facial reconfigurement due to my escapades, but right now? I miss my old face.

You may be relieved to know that my face is back to it’s old self and no one else appeared to notice any anomalies.