The end of last week and this weekend has been very…. accident prone. I’m not the one with the injuries (except what daylight savings did to me… I know most of you are with me on this one, but may possibly be napping under your desks instead of reading this. The rest of you are lucky bastards because you don’t have the government fucking with TIME.) but when you’re married to the person who is limping around with bandaids all over their fingers, it doesn’t really matter who fell. We’re all suffering.
First Kamel tripped in the grass and fell flat on his face, twisting his ankle, at work. Ouch. He iced it, and hobbled around for the rest of the day.
Mean time, on my side of the bay, I was fighting my way through the Friday evening CRAZIES and tourists, spurred on by 2 days of lovely weather. Nothing gets the city riled up with an overwhelming energy than 70 degrees and a light breeze. While trying to catch my train I was dodging and weaving like I was running some sort of wacko obstacle course. The 5 guys each trying to shove different CDs in my face, the peaceful protesters holding out small, vague photographs and singing, the red cross do-gooders who “just need 5 minutes’ of my time”, the music pounding out of Old Navy paired with the guy who is banging on pots and buckets (fairly impressively, I might add), the literal sea of people flowing out of the Moscone (convention) Center so I’m a fish up stream, the crazy woman standing in the middle of that sea pointing at strangers and yelling, “TEQUILA! TEQUILA! TEQUILA!” so that I have to duck around her flailing body, the regular San Francisco homeless crowd, weaving in and out of the foot traffic, the two girls working an obvious drug deal/hand off next to me while I wait for the walk sign, and the homeless woman who threw a cassette player at me as I walked past. It didn’t hit me, just crashed on the cement in front of me and made me jump.
This has nothing to do with accidents, but it was surreal and stressful trying to make my way to the train, carrying a large tupperware bowl, a shopping bag, and my usual messenger. It was a very sweaty ride home, only to arrive to a hobbled husband and a classic fight on communication skills. Ahhh life.
Saturday was calm. Except for when Kamel broke a glass bowl in the sink and sliced up both hands in about 8 different spots. I heard him cry out, “Shit!” but then didn’t hear my name called, so it took me several minutes to peek in and see what the matter was. There was a lot of blood in the sink. So! I wrapped his hands in paper towels and sat him down in the bathroom on the toilet so I could figure out where all the cuts actually were. I’m going to openly admit that using the alcohol pad to “disinfect” the cuts while Kamel yelped and squirmed because of the sting was kind of the best part. It’s the small joys, people.
Sunday morning, after some of the bandaids were ok to be kept off (And some so not ok to be kept off. Ew. Skin flaps.) This conversation actually happened.
Kamel: Wanna know something kinda gross? [He says with a chuckle]
Kamel: See this cut on my thumb? [It has a little red line of dried blood on it]
Kamel: I keep thinking it’s jam and almost licking it off. But then I remember that it’s not jam at all.
Me: You are so weird.
Kamel: I’ve had to remind myself it’s not jam multiple times.
Me: You know this is going on the internet.
Kamel: Lauren! Why are you always telling all of my secrets?!