My neighbor came over and offered some plants for my empty garden in
the rental house. They're pretty, but they are covered with fine
little spines. I planted them, but now my forearms look like I've got
the measles.
Okay, I decide to open some moving boxes to get my mind of the itching
forearms. Those plants are tough.
I wanted to find the power cord for my elliptical so I can get off some
of this fat. I pulled 6 pieces of paper out of the top of one dish
pack. As I pull them out, the edges ran across my upper lip. Yup, you
guessed it, 6 lovely (albeit rather deep) paper cuts on my lip. Once I
staunched the flow of blood and put my t-shirt in cold water to soak (I
looked like the victim on CSI), I went back to unpacking.
I pulled another dish pack down from the pile and stepped back. Well
on the previous box, I'd found Topaz the Wonder Hound's squeaky
ball. He was behind my legs as I turned with the box in my arms, ball
in mouth, wanting to play. In order to avoid him, I slammed my
shoulder into the elliptical. It went over part way, my bare foot went
under the base of the elliptical, I slid back, the elliptical dropped
on the three smaller toes on my left foot.
I went down under the dish pack, wrenching my back. I'm on the floor
in tears; the cat shot off to the basement (did not want to be seen at
the scene of the murder); Topaz drops his ball and licks the toilet
paper off my lip, starting the blood going all over again. I'm
jammed between the elliptical (foot still underneath it) and a row of
boxes with a box on top of me. Yah know, this just sucks.
Right now, I've got a wad of toilet paper on my face. No shirt, as
my clean shirt has now joined its other bloody brother in the sink.
The icemaker in the new fridge works. I've got a baggie full of ice
on my toes. The second toe is 3 times the size of the other two.
I've found the adhesive tape, so I'll tape the swollen piggy to the
other two and see how it is in the morning.
Since I've not unpacked any of the drugs stronger than Tylenol, I'm
going to have a couple of beers and go to bed. The morning has got to
be better.
Frank Reid