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epitome of incomprehensibility
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2 AM last night. I'd planned to be showered and hair-brushed and tooth-brushed in 20 minutes, but the lurking sharpness of the shampoo and soap caddy had other plans.
I reached for my shampoo at just the unfortunate angle to snag the side of my right pinky's tip on a thing - a razor left hanging, uncapped. A pain. A hyphen of a cut, pale then pooling red. I put the finger in my mouth, then under the running water...which made it look bloodier than it was, reminding me that a cut like that had provoked a past panic attack.
I imagined running around panicking now. In a towel, maybe. Ridiculous.
And that thought annoyed rather than amused me, but at least I didn't panic. I just thought "stupid fucking situation" over and over as I held my thumb against my pinky to stop the bleeding and tried to wash my hair with my left hand. The second time was better. Waste of shampoo. I grumbled at whoever left the razor there (Dad, it turned out) and my past self and my present self and my future self because this would slow me down and I'd be tired and aaauuugh why can't I stick to a fucking schedule. Plus, we were all out of little bandages so I had to wait until the bleeding stopped.
Only then did it strike me as a *funny* stupid situation - left-handed levity, a trivial injury - but I wasn't in bed until 3:10 and I AM tired.
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