The toenail saga continues...oh and Tikal.

Okay. I know that you guys don't come here to read repeated graphic entries on my toe, but for some inexplicable reason I am madly obsessed with the status and health of this toe, so read on of your own will. You should anyway though, because this one's a doozy! my life is pure comedy sometimes.

Chris and I, sin Gordon, bought into the shuttle to Tikal (or rather, the town nearest TIkal) which I expeted to be quite easygoing compared to the normal chicken bus transfer chain, but for some reason this trip was nightmarish. Miserably hot and feeling oddly cranky, I just wasn't handling things as well as usual. My stomach was still a bit off from the week before, so I think this was a big contributor.

Arriving late in the afternoon there wasn't much to do besides take care of errands, such as new flip flops (which were doing much better since I did a ramshackle emergency repair on them with a thread and needle), buying conditioner, arranging my shuttle through belize and onwards to mexico, etc. etc. So despite feeling weak I managed to accomplish most of these, but was still determinedly searching for the flip flops around dusk. I was becoming increasingly frustrated because each time I stopped to ask for directions people would repeatedly urge me further onwards. On and on and on until finally i inevitably tripped, and (surprise!) cracked my toe AGAIN, although now that it was unencumbered by the old nail thanks to chris' cajoling, I basically just cut open the tender skin underneath and started bleeding semi profusely on the street.

Then the moment happened. THAT moment. The moment where you've just had enough. I literally stood in the middle of that street and let out a raging, gutteral scream of frustation, no doubt scaring the small children and dogs nearby. After this I collected myself and, limping, went into the nearest restaurant and asked to use the bathroom to clean the blood up. They pointed to the back. Inside the stall I hefted my foot up onto the sink, hoping to gently rinse all the grit and blood out, only to feel the sink crumble under the weight of my foot. A sickening "detaching from the wall" sound launched me into action, and by some small miracle I caught the sink before the porcelain crashed into a million pieces on the ground.

So there I am, a complete wreck: toe bleeding, one sandal on, the other off, clutching a sink I've just accidentally ripped from the wall, wondering what I should do. At least on closer inspection of the wall I saw that I could just precariously hook the sinnk back on (no doubt what my also clumsy predecessor tried to do). I quickly do this, dab my toe with a damp tissue and hightail it out of there, trying my best to not look guilty. At this point I'm feeling sort of mentally unbalanced from the entire day, so I march straight into the nearest bakery and buy a huge slice of banana cake to make me feel better. This eventually led to deep feelings of shame (as it was still feb, and i had just had chocolate the day before), but aftering confessing my sins to Chris, bless his heart, he simply told me it was okay because I was having such a bad day.