In Honor Of My Broken Toe

Some of you know that I broke a toe on my broken foot. Anyone that knows me well is not surprised by this. While I am made of heartier stuff than many people, I am extremely accident prone. So, in honor of my broken toe, I continue the story of my myriad injuries.

-When I was four years old, I went to lake with my parents, Uncle Bud, and my cousin Belinda. Belinda was 13, and impossibly glamorous. We splashed together in the waves, and I was delirious with happiness that Belinda was playing with me. I ignored a sharp pain in my foot in order to continue frolicking. My mother called us out of the water to eat lunch, and I walked onto the shore, trailing bloody footprints behind me. "Who is bleeding," my mom asked. "I don't know, mommy," though I suspected it was me. "Look at your feet. See if you're bleeding." I looked at my foot, and found my toe had been cut, and was dangling by a flap of skin. "It's not me mommy," I said, but something in my face gave away my lie. "Let me look at your foot," she demanded. I didn't get to play with Belinda anymore, because they put a sock on my foot to hold my toe on, and I was rushed to the emergency room to have it reattached. My toe still won't bend.

-When I was 13, I was at my cousin Audra's house. I was standing on the couch, searching a high shelf for pot and watching Days Of Our Lives. As I approached the end of the shelf, something exciting happened on my show. I took a step forward, and turned to look at the television. My progress was impeded when the metal ceiling fan connected with my skull. I stepped back, and blood shot from my forehead like a geyser. Audra took me to my grandmother's house, and while we waited for a ride to the emergency room, Nana gave me birthday presents to open. I did my best to tear open the packages using one hand (the other was trying to staunch the flow of blood from my head). I received laundry advice from the doctor while he stitched my head back together. He did a good job. The scar on my forehead is barely visible, and the blood stains came out of my shirt.

-I was hanging out with my cousin Jereme on a Friday night, lamenting the fact that we didn't have beer or pot. He suggested that we take shots of Nyquil. I thought that was a really stupid idea. I did it anyway. Later reports say that I drank the entire bottle, save one shot that Jereme took. I do not remember walking home. The next thing I do remember is Jereme standing over me, shouting "What the fuck? Are you gonna sleep forever?" It was Sunday, and the lingering traces of Nyquil in my system were still making me logy. I do not believe that I sustained any brain damage, and for that I am extremely grateful. Who knows what stupid shit I would do if I had brain damage.