Living Dangerously

by pjmcbride

The other day, I was absentmindedly screwing the top back on a jar candle, with one hand, and I knocked the candle off the table onto my toe. And not just any toe, but the one with the nail that’s been weird since I tripped over the paving stone and dislocated my finger. (Alien Finger sends its regards.) Was there any reason I couldn’t have used both hands?

The very next morning, I was turning over in bed and wrestling the covers around myself, and my hand slipped and I ended up gouging the side of my nose with my thumbnail. Only I can get injured turning over in bed.

 

THE FIRST TEXT-TO-911 CRISIS IN PROGRESS ENTRY

“I waited for 38 minutes and the cops haven’t shown up yet! Thanks for NOTHING!” So now they have a new means of being sarcastic to us. Thanks for NOTHING indeed.

BACK TO THE TOPIC OF MY INJURIES

March 19 marked the first anniversary of my being bitten on the leg by a dog. I still have jaw marks on my leg. Speaking of which, we had a guy with a felony warrant attempt to evade arrest, and he got bitten by a police dog. The warrant was for animal cruelty.

THINGS NOT TO DO

One of the kindly people who drives me home said that she should drive me to the North Side and abandon me there, to give me something to write about. I cannot discourage this strongly enough. (Although maybe I should make it unnecessary, by writing more often.) I don’t think even Nick would do such a thing. Speaking of him, he starchily informed me that he is just “a fictional character,” so perhaps I should stop mentioning him in these pages, to maintain my credibility. He is indeed a fictional character. The guy the guests at my birthday party thought they met was actually an actor I hired for the occasion. He had to leave early for his clown gig at a kid’s party.

 

 

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