dig that girl

i couldn’t sleep for worrying earlier, so i poured myself a half-glass of wine, as is my custom, and sat down in my study to read. as is not my custom, i promptly spilled the entire glass of wine all over my unfinished wooden table, and all over the book i was reading.

so i mopped up the spill as best i could (though there is now a dark-red stain on my table, which looks sort of cool), refilled the wineglass, and tried again. i was successful that time, drinking most of the wine as i read, until i grew tired and got up to go to sleep.

juggling the book, my notepad, the mostly-empty glass of wine, and the phone, i went to turn out the study light. the study light switch, oddly enough, is on the wall next to the refrigerator, with only an inch of space in between. i hadn’t a free hand to slide in and turn it off, so as i reached for the switch, i held the wineglass in my teeth.

it broke. in my mouth. somehow i managed to catch the remainder of the wineglass before it shattered on the ground, which for some reason was a subconscious priorty over spitting out the shards of glass crunched in my teeth, which spitting i did immediately afterward. glass on the floor, glass in my teeth, wine in my hair.

fortunately i’ve sustained no injuries that i know of save for a tiny cut on my chin, but i can’t find one of the biggest broken pieces of the wineglass. perhaps i’ve swallowed it and will find out when my esophagus starts to sting. i sure as fuck can’t sleep now, but i will absolutely not be drinking wine.

what all of this means i don’t know, but i don’t think i want to know.