Shattered Glass

I have one tiny bit of glass stuck in each foot. This requires me to wear shoes constantly, as pain will shoot up my entire body at times when walking otherwise. As such, I've been wearing my flip flops a lot lately.

Part of me wonders if this will always be so, because glass is not something that will soften like thorns in your skin. Another segment of my head goes to wondering if it's healthy to just go ignoring a foreign object beneath my epidermis. Most of me, however, doesn't really care. What will happen will happen, and it's not like I didn't try to tweeze it out (impossible since it's tiny, see through, and my vision is horrible), wash it out, and suction out when it happened. I tried, I failed.

And, honestly, it doesn't bother me.

Though the times when it does strike me with unexpected pain, I half wish that it meant something. That it was a reminder of anything but that I did a crappy job sweeping up broken glass, in which I had no dustpan. A wound should be one of personal war, not of lacking proper equipment and living on a textured floor.

It's times like this when I realize just how stoic I am, and therefor boring.