Sunday, November 16, 2003
I didn't notice (when and how) I'd cut my left foot big toe yesterday and left home - left traces (an understatement) of blood in the kitchen, in the bathroom, in the bedrooms, in the study, in the hallway, in the living room. My sister came home, spooked, to see blood on the floor. She half-believed she would see a dead body (mine) as the blood trail leads her through the apartment. She did not find what she'd expected to discover; that was not good news either as she couldn't figure the mystery behind the blood trail. She called mom, she called me. Mom told her to check if anyone was hiding behind doors or under beds (more spooked) while I confirmed that I did not cut myself after a hasty careless check of soles (very spooked). She watched her rugby semis with a heavy heart. That is, until I'd found a cut on the side of my toe, stained with dried blood. Relieved, she left the trail unwiped, in a proud display for me to view when I returned home that night.
