There's Blood Everywhere. It's Your Blood. And You Cry, And Your Tears Are Also Blood.

I have a great deal of respect for CSI guys. They have a difficult job, which if television has taught us anything consists largely of doing cool science montages, coming up with one-liners to describe gruesome tragedies, and getting shot at more often than the Duck Hunt dog.* I feel that the least I can do for such noble workers is to give them a break by reconstructing what, exactly, it was that made my bathroom look like a crime scene, so they can get back to dramatically putting on their sunglasses as fast as possible.

So here, for the record, are my actions last night:

-Enjoy cup of Safari Sunset tea.
-Pee.
-Go to bed .
-Get up to pee.
-Go to bed.
-Get up to pee.
-Go to bed.
-Get up to pee.**
-While thus occupied, pants down and whatnot, attempt to multitask and blow my nose.
-Toss away tissue.
-Notice that nose still needs wiping.
-Notice that nose needs wiping really fast.
-Flail for toilet paper whilst nose gushes blood like a bursting dam all over my bare legs.
-Jam toilet paper up nose.
-Finish other item of bathroom business.
-Find that nose paper is already soaked.
-Attempt Indiana Jones-style switching of bloodied tissue with clean tissue to prevent further blood gush.
-Wipe off bloodsoaked legs with washcloth.
-Tissue switch.
-Find clean pajamas.
-Tissue switch.
-Wonder if this is the kind of situation that calls for jamming a tampon up my nose.***
-Notice with relief that blood seems to be slowing down, or possibly I am just running OUT of blood.
-Go to bed.

I thought that was the end of it, save for the wonderful sensation of blood and snot going down the back of my throat, but I suppose I should also admit that if I'm going to have to get up to pee 27 times, I stop bothering to turn on the light, so it was completely dark in the bathroom while all this was happening. Which is why I failed to notice that I had managed to bleed on the floor, too.

I am not sure how I failed to notice that I’d stepped in the blood, though.

So I went into the bathroom this morning to find bloody footprints all over, and dried blood was still caked on my left foot, and all in all it was a pretty incriminating scene. But I swear, CSI guys: I am still alive, and there is no need for you to come to my house to investigate.

But if you do, please try not to get shot. I just cleaned up all the blood.


*Seriously. Fuck that dog.

**My bladder is apparently the size of a thimble. But I love me some tea, so I have learned to accept this routine.

***An honest-to-god doctor-recommended technique. When Mom was getting spontaneous outpourings of noseblood, her ENT told her to try to stanch the flow with tampons cut down to size. I’m not sure which would be worse, nosebleed or nose-tampon, but either way it’s definitely an excuse to get out of polite society for a little while.