(whimper)

i have a sliver. from my bedpost. snagged. in my writing hand.

if my father were here, he'd fix it. in ninth and tenth grade, i used to walk home from school barefoot (i know, i'm a stupid little girl) and a couple times pinecone type snags occurred. he'd very patiently, with skilled hands, pry the pricks out. my foot on a pillow. he was always very careful, and the removal always felt clean and total. when he finished, i always hopped from the pillow like nothing had happened; i'd run out and go play some more. i never learn; i'm foolish.

ouch. i miss him.