The Stabbing

The warning started out as a minor annoyance.  Stubbornly I refused to give in to fear and alter my plan just to appease The Warner. After all, I had a right to be there.  My self-appointed mission was to rid the area of the unwanted--the undesirable--the unproductive. I would cleanse the area. I would be victorious. Right was on my side. How then could I fail? 

Simple: I would not fail. 

I did not see the blade.  But I felt it's sharpness as it sliced through my skin as easily as a hot knife battles a stick of butter.  

My precursory examination revealed a 3.5 inch superficial scratch. The wound was not adjacent to any vital organs. Though it was intended to warn me off, it only galvanized me. I deepened my resolve. I would conquer the enemy. I would succeed. I would...

Become woozy.

And notice the blood pooling at the end of the "scratch."

In that moment of heightened clarity I realized I had actually been stabbed. 

Perhaps I am not as invincible as I thought. Perhaps even Right experiences setbacks.  Perhaps I better become less philosophical and get about the new tasks at hand: ensure my personal safety and survival. 

I quickly scanned the area. The enemy had retreated. Safety. Check. Now, to ensure survival. 

I doused my wound with the only liquid I had: my beloved DDP.  I continued to bleed. But the edges of my wound were straight, even,  and did not appear to be gunked up.   I didn't think I would require stitches; however, if I did, I was confident the surgeon would have good material with which to work. 

Oddly I did not feel pain. Just that initial awareness of a scratch. Could I be going into shock so soon  after being wounded? I thought it unlikely, but picked up the pace just in case. 

As I applied clean paper napkins and pressure to stanch the flow, I whispered a quite "Thank You" for every take out and drive thru attendant who obviously thought I am the messiest diner in the the history of dinners. I decided I would henceforth endeavor to be less dismissive of their generosity.  I would graciously accept all the napkins they tossed at me. 

If I survived this ordeal. 

Emergency averted, I became angry.  This attack would not go unanswered. I would stand my ground. My task would be completed, and this attack would be avenged. Once the blood loss slowed, and my initial shock at being attacked passed, I sought out the culprit. 

It took a few seconds.  Everything appeared normal.  Innocent. 

But then I spied the evidence of my attack. Still on the tip of the blade of my smaller Red Yucca:  my blood.

I completed my task with a newfound vengeance. And I relearned a valuable lesson...

I'll take time to put on long sleeves when I weed the larger Red Yucca next.

Or hire the job out.