Just a Bike Wreck

I know that it is cliche to refer to your life as a train wreck. So, I will not.

I will instead refer to my life as a bicycle wreck, which coincidentally, I just happened to have on Saturday night.

I'm riding with flip flops on like an idiot, and lose my footing. My left foot shoots like a meat rocket onto the sidewalk. I think my big toe bone acts as a wedge, if you will, and splits the end of my toe open upon impact.

So, I am sitting on my bike looking down at a throbbing, split open toe that's gushing blood. I am a block from my house. I have no choice but to pedal back and leave a blood trail home. Best part; I don't have health insurance. I sit in my living room with said busted toe, contemplating how much a trip to the ER would cost me "out of pocket," or as they say in the health care biz, "self-pay."

I call home to the parents.

I explain the booboo. My Dad asks several questions to evaluate the severity of the wound. Questions like, "How big is the gash? Are you spurting or dripping blood?" Needing medical attention is definitely in order. After my Dad curses me a few times for not having health insurance, we decide Convenient Care is a wiser financial risk.

I go, pay 120 bones, and get out with sticker-like tape holding me together. Now I must limp, keep it dry, and not wear shoes for about four days.

God, there's just something about opening the gash up right after I did it, and looking at my flesh resembling hamburger meat. I felt so inhuman.

So maybe me being a whiny, pansy, baby today is a way of taking back my humanity from the stinking bike wreck of my life.

I haven't ruled out karma or plain dumb luck, yet.