Running my hand lightly over my bandage…I count the bumpy ridges of the staples there. Nine, equally spaced, they remind me of rings used to hold a shower curtain in place. I wonder what the clinking of them being removed would sound like in a glass ashtray…I envision the sound being similar to bullet being removed and placed in a metal tray like some sort of slow scene in the middle of an action hero’s film, being repaired in a grimy doctor’s office after crawling away from a gunfight… left for dead.

Maybe it’s more like a row of scuta… (singular scute)

The ozone in the air is making Newt bouncy and full of the wrestling-urge…his rear claws rake at my wrist while I rub his tummy. I go to take my hand away, and he grabs on with his front swabs and chomps down on my thumb using just enough pressure to keep it in place. I’m tempted to brush his teeth after wearing him out, but I think he’ll get the week off, until I can handle him more surely.

Dan has a bad case of the flu today. I hope he mends soon, and also hope that he didn’t leave flu-germs here. I really don’t want that on top of everything else.

Hair-wash nurse will return tomorrow morning.. she was ill-equipped to deal with me. If I could get in the shower, I wouldn’t need anyone to to help… the idea is that I can’t get the wound wet. She’s coming back with a basin, as I can’t bend under the sink.