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A new kind of pain

©01 The Media Desk

         OK. It’s my fault. I freely admit it and hold myself up to public ridicule and humiliation.

        No problem.

        Just while you are laughing at me, hope you never have opportunity to experience the same thing.

        I knew my toenails needed trimming. I just hadn’t felt like doing it. It’s that simple.


        On the way into the office at the New Office Which Has Been Condemned By The Fates To Oblivion I was walking across the parking lot and saw a car coming. So I hurried a bit.

        Then I was halted in mid-step by a blinding gut wrenching fireball that shot up my left leg and turned my spine into one of those fancy twist noodles. But there was a car coming, so I couldn’t just lay down in the middle of the lot and peacefully die. No, I had to skipjump to the sidewalk and try to catch my breath.

        That accomplished I double limped into the office and collapsed into my chair to figure out if a piece of broken glass had run through my old jail issue shoes to amputate a toe or three.

        No… Nothing so dramatic.

        The toenail on my big toe had finished shredding my sock, and had hung up against the leather on the inside of my shoe. I dabbed at the bloody spot, tried to trim the bent nail back a little. And prayed that the morning coffee would make itself.

        Further note, nobody around here at 0700 hours even notices if you walk to the breakroom minus one shoe to get the water for the coffee.

        And now… half an hour later, it still hurts.


        DO NOT: Put off cutting your toenails because you want to lay in bed and watch Penn State loose a football game to a bunch of surfers and pretty boys from down in sharkbait hanging chad land and then forget to do it later.                 You’ll dearly pay for it.



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