I noticed at the climbing gym that my toe hurt in a funny spot (not the usual rock-climbing shoe spots, or the usual contact-with-the-wall spots) and sat down on the mat to poke at it. And hey, there was a darkish looking line, surrounded by a whitish looking patch, healed over in the meaty bit of my toe. And me with no clue how it got there.
So I just remembered it (six hours later) and I sat down on the edge of my bed this time with a razorblade to try to whittle it out.
It wasn't in all that deep, and a bit of picking and a good squeeze got the thing out, with a small quantity of blood, lymph, and dead white blood cells. And then I realized...
...the bandages and antibiotic cream are downstairs in the kitchen.
You know, where you usually need them.
So I had to hobble downstairs dripping unnameable fluids to dress the wound.
La. Yeah, I'm an idiot.
Meanwhile, I also seem to have a mild sinus infection. Probably from the nasal lavage au fish shit I breathed in when I was upside down in a lake on Monday...
All in all, though, it was a pretty good day.