Abigail M. Schilling

I've never broken a bone, I avoided impetigo all four times my brother got it (ew), and my most painful memory is being covering in mosquito bites after a woodsy camping trip. Basically, aside from all the immune system breakdowns and the anxiety problems, I've lead a healthy life.

Until Friday, when I managed to do more to my skin than puberty does to a 13-year-old.

It was a standard Friday afternoon and I was hanging out at my old house playing video games because that it was I do unless I'm asleep or being paid to do something else. Eventually, a crowd started to gather partially because I'm awesome (practice makes perfect) but mostly because we were all hungry and couldn't decide what to do about it.

The dogs were outside because they get severely jealous of the video games and interfere with game play. And after awhile you get used to the barking and clawing to get back inside. But some animal lover came home and thought that we were being cruel and unusual (dogs are people too!) and let the dogs in.

However, the front door was also open, creating a clear exit for dogs who think the only thing better in life than making me lose at Tetris Attack is running up and down and across busy streets. As soon as they finished rejoicing in their release from the terrible binds of the backyard, they made a break for the front.

I threw down aside my controller and took off choosing to target Deacon. I caught up with him on the driveway and threw my body on his. He slowed and I threw my arms around his waist as he continued his escape. My leverage was limited as I crashed to the ground and he glided out from under me, pulling me behind him. I felt my body skate across the pavement and when Deacon evaded my fingertips I pulled myself back up to standing and assessed the damage.

My elbow is totally torn up. It looks like a child's scraped knee. It's sensitive to the touch, has a gnarly scab that will probably each like crazy soon, and I couldn't do some of the yoga positions because of it.

Within hours, I had enlisted a team of makeshift nurses to bandage the wound. We had dinner eventually, played some more video games and then stepped outside for a smoke. Well, all except for me, the non-smoker. At some point during the brief hiatus from video games, a group hug was initiated.

I now have a cigarette burn on the inside of the same arm.

To cap off the evening, I rescued a cat (more on that later) and when taking her to my car, I remembered that cats hate cars. So I thought I would cradle her in my arms while I drove so she would feel safe. Bad idea.

When cats are afraid they like to be in control. And they will CLAW YOU TO DEATH in order to achieve that control.

I swear I've got through an entire tube of antibiotic cream this weekend.

/bitching
(for now)