Sweet but stupid

About 7 am yesterday I woke out of a deep sleep to let in the house painters. Forgot to put my bandage on and my knee sleepily buckled and I stumbled against the bedroom door but recovered in time to realize the painters were upstairs and not at the door. Fuck. But since I was up anyway I went into the kitchen to put last night’s dishes away. Something was dripping. Looked around and realized it was me with a big bloody couple gashes on my arm, skin scraped away, a mess. Not sure how I did it bashing into the door but she’s got it festooned with hockey pennants and Sioux dream catchers all hung by tacks and I must have shredded my arm on a couple. It must have hurt but I didn’t notice. I never notice. Unless it’s a paper cut—I hate paper cuts!—I’ll have no idea I bashed my arm or hand or whatever, blood everywhere. Now it looks like I got bit by a German shepherd. Oy. Big guys are sweet but stupid.

The festooned door.

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