Blame It On Me.

I did something stupid. And there's no one to blame but myself. That's the funnest kind of mistake, iddn't it?

I burnt myself. In the literal sense of the word. I burnt my leg, to be specific. It was on my father's motorcycle. He left me unattended with it while he went to vote, and I guess even at age 15 I'm not smart enough to stay away from the damn muffler. I just wanted to sit on it. Yet I forgot something very key -- make sure when you swing your leg over, it lands on the foot pedal, not the hell-hot muffler. So my leg is burnt.

And then I made another massive mistake. I put a band-aid over it, but it turns out (of course), the band-aid isn't big enough. And then I must take it off, and that's when it rips some of the burnt skin right off of my leg. NASTY.

Ready for my next mistake? I hop in the shower. I can't remember the last time I've been in that much pain.

Next mistake? I cover it with a wrap. Why's that bad? The wrap stuck the areas where I no longer had skin!

Well, I finally told my mom and dad. (Yes, I didn't tell them about it until this point, AKA another mistake.) Then we started giving it proper care. We washed it out with peroxide, then gooped on triple antibiotic ointment, and wrapped it gently with a non-stick bandage. I let it air out during the day, and every time I hit it against something, I die a little inside. I have to wear shorts so no fuzzy crap gets caught in it, because that's already happened (woop, another mistake), and it's a pain to get out.

It still oozes and bleeds, but not as much. Luckily, I don't think its infected. It'll leave a pretty sweet scar, hopefully. I should at least get something in return for all this pain.