bad toast

Whoever last raised a glass with me and said "Here's mud in yer eye" was a little too effective. I did the last bit of yard work last night with my new quasi-roommate and with all the mud and sticks and leaves and grass and frozen boot-smashed jack-o-lantern* and dried raccoon poo flying around, something got in there.

Either it's still lodged between my eye lid and conjunctiva or it's long gone but left a scratch that continues to feel like a grain of sand gouging up tender places.

I think my current situation could partially have something to do with my ingenious method of filling those huge brown-paper yard waste bags for the city compost,** which involves turning them upside-down and clawing upward into them, whacking the walls with my gloved hands like a trapped miner, until the top of my head hits the bottom of the sack and the thing is opened. Then I wriggle out and fill the massive thing with leaves. If I'd take off the filthy gloves before, all that whacking wouldn't result in a shower of crap flying down from them into sensitive membranes. I confess though, I sort of like standing in the front yard with a huge bag over my head (and torso and thighs).

Anyway, how about next time we just say "cheers". (I'm also open to more interesting suggestions.)

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* thank you Chris, Thomas, and free beer

** which are very stiff and folded in such a way that makes them difficult enough to open that there are inventions to help open them and then hold them open - will update post later if I find an example online