My antiquated apartment is like Africa as described by SK, who spent time there as an aid worker: "Everything is either lost or broken." The thick marble handle in the shower had evidently become cracked and weakened over the decades as yesterday morning, while I leant on it to scrub a foot, it broke off in my hand causing me to gash my leg. I stared at the lesion for what felt like several seconds, optimistically observing, "That looks deep, but maybe it won't bleed." Then the blood came - and kept on coming. Little red rivers forming rosy clouds in the bottom of the tub. It took a while of applying pressure for the bastard to clot, then I carefully dried and disinfected the wound and covered it with an "Extreme Elastoplast" from a box fortuitously left behind by a past visitor (RS?). For a quick fix, 'til I could buy some heavy-duty contact cement from the hardware shop, I later wrapped the jagged protuberances in waterproof electrical tape. (Yeah, I'm as handy as an ashtray on a motorbike.) Believe me, though, the edges were neanderthal's lithic flake-sharp - I nicked a knuckle and suffered a stinging cut below my pinky finger while inspecting them. Ultimately, none of it's a huge drama; it's not like I had to go to casualty. It's just sad that I needed to accidentally injure myself to spur me into composing a blog entry. Also sad is the fact that, along with the fist-punctured door and polish-stained carpet, it's more damage to be deducted from my bond.
Brought to youse by Rush's "Retrospective 3" (2009).