Having taken such a long break from writing, I find it hard to really compile any sort of creative element. Writers block maybe? Or maybe it's just that I've allowed myself to digress into such a lump of uselessness that I have lost the words that seemed to flow out of my head.
Then again, maybe it was all just shit that I poured out. Just me feeling some sort of grandiose feeling of potential that never really existed.
Who knows. What I do know, is that I enjoyed it. It was some sort of therapeutic treatment for myself. Maybe it was my excuse to drink, and now maybe, I don't need an excuse.
I guess though, that if I'm going to get back into it, I will have to start out with small little writing excercises...writing out whatever random crap I can, in an effort to maybe write something worth reading.
The other night, I ran into a friend. Someone who has begged me repeatedly to start up again. I know we talked for a bit...but I was so damned drunk, I don't really recall the substance of our conversation. That seems to be a pattern in my my life lately.
Later that night, as my friends and I walked back to their house, I ran and jumped up to slap a large sign hanging above the sidewalk. Once I'd hit the sign, it ripped free from hooks suspending it over the sidewalk, and subsequently fell squarely on my head. Splitting my head open. Blood instantly started to pour out of the wound. I recall staring down at the ground in a daze. Perfect round droplets of blood began to dot the sidewalk. My head and face felt wet. I think I touched my head, feeling around for the wound. I recall asking if I was really hurt. Nobody could really answer me with any sort of certainty. We decided to just head back to my friends house, so we could clean it up and reassess the damage to my scalp.
By the time we reached his house, my coat and clothes were heavily covered in blood.
I was upset that my charlie shirt had been so stained. Abby took it from me and washed it, while I ran my head under the shower, trying to clean up the blood so someone could figure out if I needed stitches.
Nobody could really say for sure. So, an ice pack was placed on the wound, and my head was wrapped with gauze to hold the icepack on, and absorb the blood.
We continued to party for another 4 hours. Blood running fairly steadily the entire time.
Pure stupidity.
Eventually we decided to go to the emergency room.
Once there, the doctor cleaned out the wound, and informed me he could see my skull, and that I would be needing staples.
"Holy fuck! STAPLES???"
I could not believe they were going to staple my scalp. This seemed extreme.
I asked if they were regular staples. I was informed they were, and then the nurse demonstrated the staple gun procedure.
Through the whole night, I never once lost the stupid smile on my face. I have, or rather my friend has the pictures to prove it. Even in the ER while getting my head stapled together.
I sit here now, with a giant 4-5 inch scar on top of my head...still swollen, and patched together with staples.
chris d.
p.s. to liz. the sign was the brewery retail store sign.
what Irony that a brewery sign should take me out, while I'm drinking.
