A couple of days ago, I figured in a small accident. It was the effect of a mixture of stupidity and my inherent clumsiness; I ended up comically landing on the sidewalk. The thing is, the cement seems to have gone through a jackhammer recently, and it was all jagged and shit. To add to the humiliation of tripping in front of all those people and having nobody help me, I also got a skinned left palm, a wound on my right elbow, and most of my right knee ended up skinned as well.
Reenactment.
In hindsight, entering the nearest Mini Stop bleeding profusely while asking the cashier for a band-aid – yes, a fucking band-aid – was kind of hilarious, even though I freaked out everyone for getting blood on the floor. And the prospect of massive blood loss? Not fun.
Anyway, I managed to patch myself up when I got back to the office, and two days later I was pretty healing up fine. The wounds on my hand and elbow don’t bother me as much as it did before. But my knee is another story. Since the wound covers pretty all of my right knee, standing up hurts. Sitting down hurts. Walking hurts.
Now, commuting, that’s a different matter. Just this morning, I got into a jeep and of course I went through the motions of cursing under my breath as I bent my right knee. The pain was fucking horrible. Just as I thought I got the pain under control, a lady was going to get off the jeep. I gingerly moved my legs around so she can pass by me. The act of moving around reopened the floodgates of massive, massive pain, and I thought of screaming various expletives because dammit this hurts and I can’t take it anymore and-
Then she accidentally hits my knee with her bag.
The howling wolf you heard along EDSA this morning? That was probably me.
When this wound heals up, I swear I’m going to hang out on the streets and hit people with exposed wounds.
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