Bloody Head

I replaced the blade on my razor late last night and completely forgot about the fact this morning as I stood in the shower, lathering up my globe and preparing to shave it. A few slashes later I found my hand red with blood after I utilized the surprisingly sharp edge to even out a bug-bite lump at the back of my head. Quite a gusher.

As I looked down at the gore on my hand, the hot water and shaving cream took the opportunity to soak into the wound. I gasped something like “Aaaarghuh” and did a few high-knee dance steps as I applied my other hand — the one without the sharp blade, you see — to the task of scrubbing it out.

Some naughty words followed.

It took a bit of time and pressure to slow the wound down enough for bandaging, which was certainly made more trouble by the fact that the cut is just beyond the event horizon of my looking in a mirror. I had to resort to that old looking into a mirror at a mirror trick, which confuses my mind all to heck — I try to move my hand right and it goes left or down or back or some darn thing. Worse, reflecting a reflection back at its reflection always makes me wonder if I’m causing some kind of hole in the space-time continuum as infinities of reflections carve their way back through dimensions I cannot see.

But all is well now (at least in this dimension), with the only real harm being the fact that I have a rather dorky “I cut my noggin” band-aid on my head for at least the rest of the day.


  1. Forgive me for laughing at your pain. A lot.

  2. No fear. I, too, mock my own pain.

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