Friday, May 21, 2010
Prizes! Prizes! Prizes! (and Some Blood)
"Gray, Green, and Red" was my second title choice, and I also considered:
"There Will Be Blood"
"Don't Look At My Crocs"
"!@#$ This Hurts Like a $o% of a &!$#^"
I am loath to tell this story. I would prefer to keep it to myself. Hip, young people are going to laugh their hip, young posteriors off at me, and I am vain enough to care. I am somewhat defeated, extremely annoyed, quite embarrassed, and in considerable pain. I seethe colorful language, barely inaudibly.
If I go to the Dr., they are going to hurt me more.
I know it.
Have you ever seen the bristle brushes they use to clean wounds?
Have you ever been scrubbed by one?
Do you know what will hurt more than the vigorous bristle scrubbing from Nurse Diesel?
The humiliation of paying money to hear the Dr. say, "Phhh. It's only a flesh wound."
Once upon a Wednesday morning, after sorting out the chaos of the high school lock-down and bomb threat/ gas leak/ bong scare, I decided to continue my gentle, post-sickness, long, slow walk to fitness program. I caught up with friends. I took May Gray pictures of the low tide beach. I declined the up and down the bluff stairs, because I am still tending the torn "something" in my right leg. Wasn't I cautious and good?
May Gray, beautifully contrasted with low tide green. Slippery, hard, crusted, abrasive, green.
So. I was actually having a conversation with myself, about being careful. About how falling on the rocks is easy to do, even for experienced sea chicas like myself. I even considered taking off my shoes, but then I would have the camera and the shoes... and nah, I didn't want to hassle. So I continued slowly, and cautiously.
And I fell.
My shoe slipped.
My shin slammed the edge of a barnacled rock, then slid down.
I donated flesh and blood.
The "slam" part hurt the most... shockingly so.
The blood part was an unanticipated bonus.
Sharks raised their noses, and clapped their pectoral fins.
Here comes the blood...
Proof of so many things...
1. I am a true photo junkie.
2. Crocs are from the devil. I was seduced by their amazing comfort, then tossed to the sharks by their zero traction tread. (Geoff took them out back and shot them with a silver bullet.)
It really is only a flesh wound, and I would show you pictures of it today, except that it looks about ten times more disgusting. I showered it at the beach, then scrubbed it in the State Park office, then bandaged it with antibiotic ointment. I even fed it Bull Taco tacos, before limping back to my car.
It hurts too much.
Do you know what I mean?
I have a pain level expectation for an injury of this nature, and it is exceeding my expectations. I can walk around, vacuum, and drive, but it hurts. The concerning part is that it is progressively hurting more, and if I have been resting then get up, the pain is... "unbearable." Or like "really, really not good." Like "my leg is not going to hold me up," and then I utter inaudible sentence enhancers. There is swelling around my ankle.
Hey, I hardly notice the torn "something" in my right leg.
Doctor time, right?
(insert barely inaudible sentence enhancers and other colorful phrases)
In other news!
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