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There’s Something About This Shirt
So… I just got back from the emergency room, getting stitches in the finger I accidently sliced open with my mandoline. I’m sure typing, even this hunting-and-pecking business, would be a lot more painful if not for the great numbing drugs that the medical staff injected directly into the wound.
At the risk of understatement, it’s been a bitch of a month. I accidentally set a kitchen on fire, midterm exams, and now this—and I realized while killing time in the emergency room that I’m wearing the same shirt I wore that day. Same shoes, too, but I’ve worn those several times since then without a personal emergency, so I’m thinking they’re okay.
The shirt, though. I don’t know if I should keep it around, burn it, shred it into little pieces, shred it and then burn the remains, or something else entirely. I’m almost afraid of what I’ll manage to do to myself if I wear it again.
Accidently falling out of a window and breaking my neck honestly doesn’t seem too far-fetched right now.
Sigh.
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