Keep your pants on.

One of the great things about living alone, is that you can walk around in your undies and not worry about it...

...until you fix yourself up a plate of snacks and a glass falls off your dishrack and shatters on the floor, cutting your foot at 10:30pm at night, leaving a shockingly big smudge of blood on the floor.

It happened so fast, and so unexpectedly, I wasn't sure what to make of it. It was kinda bigger than the usual accidental cut, but not huge. It hurt instantly. And there was glass all over the kitchen floor. I grabbed a paper towel to apply pressure.

I peeked at the cut. It was maybe a half-inch big? Ow! Is that bad? I couldn't decide. Is that big enough to need stitches? How long do I have to hold this pressure?? What if I hit a bad vein? Ow!

Bear in mind, I have been watching a lot of CSI:NY recently, including an episode where a bike messenger died from a swiss-army scissor stab wound.

I really didn't know how bad this was. Could I handle this on my own? Will my regular bandages work for this? Do I need to go to the hospital for stitches? How do I even get out of here without stepping on glass, while holding one foot? How do I get my pants on while applying pressure on the wound? Am I going to scar from this? Can I clean up the glass while I have one foot held with a paper towel? WHAT the F!

(Also I should note, that this morning, I missed the bus to work and ended up driving my recently fixed bug to work, which consequently had a flat tire, maybe 8 miles away from work. And this was the third flat tire I've had in the last year. It made me seriously consider selling the car.) I was simultaneously disturbed and amused at the ridiculous level of bad luck I was having in one day.

I figured I should call someone just in case, or for some advice. While grabbing my foot, I hopped carefully out of the kitchen. Who do I call? It's 10:30! My brother is in Chicago, two hours ahead, with a baby. Penny, who had my keys, had gone to sleep. Tater, who also had my keys, was in another state. KP, who also had my keys, was probably at home in Sunnyvale.

Finally, I called Jen. I told her, "I just dropped a glass. And I cut my foot. And I have no pants on." And I was laughing. Kind of hysterically. And then nervously.

She offered to come over, but then I realized... she can't get in my building w/o a key. Unless I meet her downstairs. But I'd have to get pants on. I guess I could throw my keys out the window. Is it really worth all that trouble? The cut wasn't hurting anymore. I looked up, and I saw some blue masking tape (for artwork). I calmed down for a sec and told Jen I'd be okay; I'd just wrap my paper-towel bandage with some tape and finally go vaccuum my mess of glass on my kitchen floor.

So that's what I did, and I still have this ridiculous bizarro paper-towel-art-taped bandage on my foot. I hope it heals suitably by morning, so I can actually put normal shoes on to go to Jenny's baby shower. Right now it doesn't hurt. Unless I touch it or move my foot too much.

Also, as I washed up the dishes, I realized that I had broken my favorite green drinking glasses. Dammit.

I finally fixed up some crackers, cheese, jam, carrots, and a glass of Target-boxed-wine for dinner. I think I'm going to watch a little more Detective Danny Messer to soothe my nerves. Frankly, I'm surprised that all these CSI:NY stories haven't freaked me out about living by myself. Maybe all that Danny Messer cuteness helps me forget about my worries.

Lessons learned: Keep your pants on. Or maybe just pay attention when you stack your glasses on that dishrack. Or keep some kind of tape and tissue handy. Or don't own glass when you live alone.

Songs of the Day: "It's a Disaster" by Ok Go and "Everything's Just Wonderful" by Lily Allen

I can't wait until I move to NYC, where I won't have to drive an hour to work, and I'll have people to live with again. Sheesh.