I'm bigger than I think

I was in the middle of the formation of the Imperfect tense when my right thigh collided violently with the corner of my desk.
I had to pause mid-sentence; mid-word. The pain was intense. I pictured punctured skin, torn flesh, blood running down my leg and forming a puddle at my feet.
Twenty pairs of eyes were on me.
I valiantly jugulated the pathos and proceeded with verb endings.

The bruise is twice as large as the ones I sustained from paintballing. I admire it twice daily.