But I Think The Knife Was...

It had to be. A second's daydreaming and blood was all over the vegies. The body can't live without the mind. Ok Morpheus. You can give it a rest now.

I see the flesh on my finger opened like a can of baked beans, now spilling tomato sauce without end. Band-aids come alive and play hide n' seek. The ironies of the Matrix. How did machines ever figure out how to create irony? Alright alright! I'm leaving...

My mind blinks flashes of first aid course leaflets I threw over my head into the recycle bin, of flicking to sci-fi movies instead of watching ER or Grey's Anatomy, as I picked the bloodsoaked cotton out of my wound left behind from the band-aid I did finally find. No different to a primitive ape picking lice from its own head. That’s all I know! Band-aids are fix-alls! Ok. Phone call. I’m entitled to my phone call.

Half an hour later, I hear the sirens. Mmm…ice-cream…yum…whuh? Oh, hang on – it’s my first-aider at the door. Honey to the rescue!

Another half hour of dramas & she has a neat dressing on her wound. She’s all smiles again. Next time, Joni…I’ll get you next time…signing out for now, Morphie.