It is Tuesday evening. I fell last Wednesday evening, almost exactly six days ago. On Thursday morning I took a few photographs of my face. It was hardly my own. My right eye was almost closed. The cheekbone under it was badly swollen. It was scraped almost to the bone, as was the bump on my nose and my right eyebrow. My lips were swollen, too. Covered with bleeding scabs, they looked twice larger than normal. By this morning, there was not a trace of the fall on my face, though. All the scabs gone, I looked perfectly fine. And I rejoiced on account of my ability to regenerate myself. To make myself new. And whole. I grew with pride at my indomitable youthfulness. By this evening, I am swollen again, but from deep inside. I have blown myself up to inhuman proportions. I am full of my own self. Another way to suffer from the same silly fall.