rejectomorph (flying_blind) wrote,

Serene Night, Annoying Toe

All the clouds have gone and the stars sparkle. A single cricket continues to chirp long after the others have been silenced by the chilliness of the night air. Though the breeze is very slight, I hear the pines making a sound that is like a lawn sprinkler barely running. The air is curiously unscented, bringing not even so much as a trace of the grasses now drying in the nearby fields. I hear a distant car now and then, but the night is mostly quiet. The moon vanished long ago, and the east remains untouched by any premonition of dawn. Summer is slowly nodding off. Little more than a month of it remains. I enjoy the extra minutes of darkness its decline is bringing.

I am not so pleased about my missing toenail. It's probably my imagination, but that foot feels vaguely swollen now, especially near the afflicted toe. (Gooshyfoot?) I keep thinking that I ought to get some undyed socks. That's most likely pointless, but the thought returns again and again. The white sock as placebo. I also still think that the toe will probably kill me, but I've been expecting one body part or another to kill me for years. The toe will have to get in line. Many other parts have prior claims for revenge.

At least my hair follicles don't want to kill me. They only kill themselves.

I really don't like having parts of me falling apart.

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Ten

    Thursday's evening nap got displaced until quite late, when I let the phone run out of electricity and had to recharge it. It was after midnight, and…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Nine

    The evening naps are kind of nice. The one Wednesday was about three hours, and I felt pretty less than terrible after it. About noon I'd had a…

  • Reset Forty-Seven, Day Eight

    Staring at this blank space for so long, just like napping successfully or unsuccessfully all day long Tuesday, and nothing seems to come of it.…

  • Post a new comment


    default userpic

    Your reply will be screened

    Your IP address will be recorded 

    When you submit the form an invisible reCAPTCHA check will be performed.
    You must follow the Privacy Policy and Google Terms of use.