Before the wind

When you have an injury, there is sometimes going to be some fetishistic element, in this case it's not my own, it's the people I've encountered. One gal, whom I know from a cafe I frequent, asked me if anyone has tried to poke or push the my enormous bruises on my leg.
First, we just uncovered them a couple of days ago so I still haven't actually looked at them close up because just what I've seen from a glance tells me I don't want any more of a detailed view then I have from the distance between my head and my knee. Second, what the fuck, why would anyone want to poke my anything let alone a surgery, okay maybe someone from 7th grade, but I don't know anyone that age so I'm not too worried.
I rode in Jake's car today, his rusty, tiny old Honda in order to get out of the house briefly. I sat with my purse on my lap, frequently touching the nonexistent brake pedal with my good foot and lamented that I was such a freak, knew it but was helpless in the face of driving with a 19 year old who is keen on looking at people when he talks to them, hence my quiet demeanor for the duration of the ride. We had a conversation about anxiety and how from my perspective it's generational and you can never really know the source except that we, like all the animals have fears that need to be reconciled and kept in check, at least until someone gives us a new one.