what a fuckin' night...

(the following is an excerpt from a novel i'm writing about a character named wayne samms:) this has been a seriously fucked up last twelve hours of my life. at work last night. ***** comes into the bar. gets mad at me for being too friendly with female customers. get over it. it's my job. deal. some idiot i work with goes home with the office key, so i can't get my bag/hat/flip-flops or put the cash-out away. then i'm reaching for an ashtray on the shelf under the bar and slice my finger open. some fucking moron put a broken ashtray back on the shelf. broken porcelain + reaching in the dark = sliced finger, bleeding profusely. it was a gusher. throbbing. tape it up, within minutes blood is dripping through the bandage. have a beer and smoke to relax. go home, ***** and i get into a huge fight about god knows what so i'm up 'til whenever. set alarm, alarm does not sound. wake up at 12:55, supposed to be at radio station at 1:15. have to go back to bar to get laptop bag first. finger still bleeding/throbbing. go to bar, get bag, call cab. wait for cab. cab doesn't come. finally hail another cab. get to station at 1:30. walk in, pull laptop out of bag, bang arm into desk, and drop laptop onto floor. laptop now dented/fucked. realize finger is still bleeding. ask if someone else can cover my show so i can go to hospital to see if i need stitches. walk to hospital. realize i don't have health card with me. walk home with blood dripping from finger. by the time i get home, bleeding has stopped. it still looks gross and has caked blood all over it and stings and throbs, but i figure fuck the hospital, it's too late now for stitches anyway. get coffee. talk to ***** for a bit. we're fucked. now i gotta go home and get ready for my show tonight. still haven't done laundry. been wearing the same damn boxers for three days now. gross. gonna have to dig another pair out from the bottom of the laundry bag. what a fucking day...