Lets see, where do I start? I know. The
bad news first. So my negligibility came to bite me in the ass again
and this time in the form of a hangnail. I was convinced that the
damn thing was just a phase that would pass like the crazy amount of
gringos that come here to think they are going to “live” the
dream. I find that they just need to live the reality. Anywho, I
waited and waited and my big toe got more and more gross. Red.
Infected. Smelt like a sewage treatment plant that had broken down
years ago but still had raw sewage being pumped into it. You get the
point. If only I had gone to the doctor at the first sign of
discomfort I would not have had to rely on the archaic methods I did
which trying to cut the side of the toenail off lengthwise and then
ripping the nail out that had at this point hooked its way into what
felt like the center of my toe. My god that was a terrible idea.
Note to everyone, don't put off to
tomorrow what you can do today and if you think things will just go
away on their own like I like to do then you you are either going to
end up with two distinct things and nothing else. One is a bloody big
toe that the doctor has just ripped a jagged piece of nail out of
along with cutting out and yanking half of what is left of your toe.
The other is most likely going to be a really shitty term paper that
was thrown together while trying to nurse a hangover with caffeine
and hot pockets. I've done both. It was lucky for me that I've always
had a knack for writing and could churn out a respectable paper no
matter what. It was not lucky for me that I had tried to give myself
surgery without anesthesia. And it was downright stupid to wait for
months while my demonic toenail sent from the underbelly of hell
itself dug its way towards the middle of my toe while slicing its way
through any and everything it could therefore turning my toe into a
red infected chunk of dead meat hanging out next to my other toes.
Ok. Enough of that. Lets talk about
happy things. It rained today thank god. My water tank was pretty
much down to its last drop and that was going to mean going to the
river to bath with an open sore. Also, I heard that humans need to
drink water to survive so I will be trying that out now that I have
plenty.
Directly after my excruciatingly
painful impromptu surgery by one of Changuinola's finest doctors that
made me wait until he could position the antenna on the tv just right
before he could cut into my hemorrhaging toe, I went to the Bocas
Baseball game. Now this might catch you by surprise and if it has I'm
very sorry and please give me a chance to explain. This was not just
any ol baseball game, this was game three of the World Series of
Baseball (of just Panama) and Bocas was up two games to none. Tickets
were hard to come by but I had my connections and had my ticket in
hand as the good ol doctor Whack a Mole was hacking away at my foot
digits. So I hobbled out of the Clinica San Jose and onto the dirt
road where I soon chased a taxi as fast as a turtle
chases....well...anything, and I was off. I met my friends in front
of the stadium and after the horse tranquilizers that they gave me
for the pain kicked in I felt perfectly sane and comfortable sitting
on a plastic beer box with a view of almost nothing that was so far
away from any player that I couldn't make out any of the numbers on
their backs for 7 hours. We won which was the important thing and I
didn't get my toe stomped into oblivion every time we scored and the
people behind, in front, to the sides, and somehow underneath me,
went into convulsive fits while hurling copious amounts alcohol into
the air. I'm not kidding about this. Like I ever kid anyways.
Apparently someone scoring at a baseball game here is a perfectly
good reason to swing your drink around in the sky until there is none
left in said container.
I actually enjoyed it and I think I
would have even without the Dr. Mole tranquilizers. Having attended
many baseball games in the states I can attest that they are boring.
And by boring I mostly mean that its not that rowdy. Now, I've never
been to a final game of anything until now so I don't know if
baseball finals are different in the states but here its just turned
up to 11 no doubt. You've got half the people paying to get in
standing in every crevice of the ballpark, the constant and I mean
constant pounding away by the band who is seated in the stands, two
dollar bags of fried chicken with banana chips, hand horns, car
horns, bus horns, and whistles constantly going off, and people
screaming at the refs. Its good entertainment and worth my five bucks
any day...
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