desperance (desperance) wrote,
desperance
desperance

The Englishman who went up a hill and fell down a mountain

I have left my spoor in a national park. Even as we speak, a mountain lion is sniffing out my blood-trail; I confidently expect it to track me back to Laramie and eat me in the pub. With ketchup. (Why yes, I do think cats can do anything.)

Actually, the hike was nearly over and I only tripped over something - a rock, a declivity, something - on the trail. And I didn't hurt my camera, and I didn't break my glasses, and I didn't tear my clothes. I just scraped my nose, and maybe jerked my neck a bit; that's kind of sore now. Mostly it was all about the blood, though. (Scalp wounds, as we know...)

And I should like to point out that I wasn't even late for class afterwards, despite showers and daubing with neosporin and changing clothes and all sorts. And reporting in sick to the wife, that too.
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