This past Monday night I got into a scuffle with a wall. I was eager and pressed forward. He (the wall) was adamant and generally was being a wall. I went face-first, he (yes he) laughed as I stood utterly shocked-still, STUNNED. There aren't a lot of moments in life where you're caught loopy, that first second not knowing "wha-huh?" then dizzily soon after the realization that something that wasn't supposed to happen just happened and you're a doofus for being there.All the while the wall stands victor. Asshole. (Yes, him.)
The blow to right eye was just that, I thought. But something wet fell onto my left hand. It could not have been tears because I was too shocked to cry. Plus, whatever that wet was, there was definitely more than what a hefty squeeze of a bottle of Visine would spew. So I looked towards my hand and...
blood.
Yup. Way to go, genius. You and the wall? Who would fall? Of course, you. He's been there since 1950-whatever and you only popped out in the 80's. He supports a generous portion of the house and you can't even lift half your bloated whale weight. The blood poured and I can't remember the last time blood poured out of me, if ever. Went to the bathroom, washed up at the sink. The cut was deep, a flap of skin resembling a fish gill breathing red. Stitches? I hoped not. But this is the deepest cut I've ever received. Slapped a (possibly over-zealous) bandage around my head, looking every bit the part of person who just went one-on-one with something dangerously stationary. A second set of (more reasonable) bandages followed the next day, then the strips the day after.
You know what?
What?
Don't go rushing in the dark with a wall between you and where you want to be.
Why?
You just might end up scarred with proof of how stupid you can be.
