Oh…um…fricken a.

I think some people might remember the time when a folded footstool damn near impaled my toe last month. It never fully healed, but it healed enough so that it wasn’t a huge bother.

It’s gonna take another month for it to heal again. Wonderfuckingful.

I was cleaning up, and I was getting the hand vacuum out of my closet. My mom decided to put a runner right next to the closet, and the runner is so thick, that in order to get into the closet, you have to push it aside. So that’s what I did. While I was pushing it aside, my foot inadvertently on purpose (it seems) slipped and crashed into the wall, rather than under the rug. If you are wondering why I was using my foot to move the rug, it’s a tradition in my family; it minimizes bending. My mom, sister, and niece has perfected the talent, and as for me…it’s not really working thanks to my poor foot-eye coordination. Anyway, I scream like a bitch, and I hold my toe while hopping to my room (which wasn’t more than 6 inches away). I look at said toe, and, hooray, I’ve managed to reopen the cut. This time around, however, it’s bleeding profusely. The last time it didn’t bleed as much. It just wouldn’t stop this time. I’m looking forward to tomorrow when I have to wear shoes. Yay!

Short note for the next blog: working on shit then never finishing–and how fucking frustrating that is.