Down For The Count

Around half past midnight last night I had finished all of my business (see also: time wasting) on facebook and I was ready to go home.  At some point I ventured into my sister's room to say 'hello' to her and her boyfriend.  As I knelt and leaned over the edge of her bed my right thigh bashed into the sharp corner/edge of her bed.

Thinking back, I'm pretty sure I swore loudly right before hitting the floor.

I was certain my whole leg had been sliced open and that, well, this was it.  It was the end for me.  The curtain was closing as I lay bleeding to death beside her bed.

As children, and pretty much still as adults, my sister and I play this sick and semi-twisted game of injury.  And it's pretty much a given that you play by the rules, because...well, just because, "dems da rules".  For example, if I'm being particularly jerky, at any given moment my sister may take her hand and say "chopped" as she fashions her flattened hand in a cutting motion across my arm, or leg.  At that point, it's peace-out arm, or leg!  She either stiches it back on and fixes it, or I am forced to go without.  Unless of course I have the strength and ability to fix it on my own.

I was seriously down for the count last night.  I could feel the blood pooling around me.  My body went numb and I think I saw a light.  Granted, it was the light from the hallway, but still.

I needed staples.  I could feel it.  I knew it.  I felt so helpless.  No one came to my rescue.  I had to do this on my own.

I reached down, mustering up my last ounce of strength, and I stapled my leg back together.  I must admit, it was like taking power pills or something.  It healed over pretty fast, and the blood didn't even get on my jeans.  It must have evaporated really quickly, that's the only explanation I have.

Hmm, I bet that when I check it out later this evening, I'll have a pretty sweet scar - otherwise known as a big fat bruise! 

Awesome.

Don't worry guys.  I'll be okay.  I hope.