I was staying in a hotel in Amarillo Saturday night. I was coming back from Colorado after playing an album release (Southern Plains Revisited) social distanced show at World’s End Brewing in Canon City on Friday night. There was a bench at the foot of the bed in the hotel room. The bench had a metal frame with a tuck and roll type cushion on top.
I got up to go to the bathroom and banged my shin on the bench, cursed, took care of business, and went back to bed. The next time I had to go to the bathroom, I tried to give the bench a wide berth without running into the dresser. It almost worked. But I caught my little toe on the frame of the bench. It hurt considerably more than my shin earlier. So I cursed more.
When I got through and started to move, it felt like I’d stepped on something sticky. I was curious because it was clean before. I didn’t think too much about it though and started to go back to bed. As I was getting into bed I realized my little toe was bleeding. I went back to the bathroom, turned on the light, and realized I had been standing in a pool of my own blood.
I wiped my foot with a hand towel and put a bandaid on my toe. I used toilet paper to wipe the blood off the floor. The towel was bloody enough. I noticed a spot on the carpet where I’d stepped out of the bathroom. In the morning I noticed there was a spot of blood on the sheet. I cleaned my foot good with a bath towel and put a new bandaid on it.
I didn’t say anything when I handed in my “key” as I left. They probably weren’t the ones cleaning the rooms anyway. But I do kind of wonder what scenario enters the cleaner’s mind when they see the bloody towels, the spot on the carpet, and the blood on the sheet – and probably on the frame of the bench. Oh, and my toe still freaking hurts.
Keep writing the songs that are in your heart.
Peace be with you.