I survived high winds and ghosts of Christmas past but what a way to kick off the New Year, with a smashed face and loosened teeth. Thud! On Friday, New Year’s Eve day, the day after hosting a rollicking pizza/dance party, as other household members slept it off and ignored our bitch’s yips and whines, I cursed and got up to take the poor thing out to pee. Aware of frost on the stairs, I was trying to proceed cautiously but bladder filled Brinda kept tugging on the leash and soon my feet came out from under me, the rest of me landing on my left profile. Hard. Despite ardent athleticism, physical abuse and exuberant tomboy shenanigans, I had never face planted like that. Hole in lip burning, I was furious, dazed and bleeding but ignorant of the extent of my injuries, each ensuing hour and day bringing with it a new phase of suffering. Of course being the holiday and Bowen Island there is no clinic so I thought I’d wait until Monday when our GP was back on duty. I had actually banged up my face and the inside of my mouth quite severely. My tongue was missing a few chunks; I had a loose front tooth, bruises on my chest, arms and legs including a huge hematoma on my thigh, which I iced immediately. Then the major swelling started, first a fat lip, then my cheeks and nose. I worried I might have broken it and my side hurt so bad I could hardly breath, as if I’d broken a rib. My gums puffed up, the pain relentless and excruciating, my appearance so distorted I looked like Miss Piggy. By Saturday night, feverish, exhausted, throbbing with misery, I begged Josef to take me to the Emergency Room at Lions Gate Hospital. We lined up for the 5:30 ferry—a first—only to discover it wasn’t coming, for no apparent reason. Nothing to do except suck it up and wait in the freezing cold for the next sailing. There is no complaint department at BC Ferries. Fortunately, the ER was nearly empty so in short order I was admitted, x-rayed, examined and prescribed drugs. ER docs don’t mess around. I went home, grateful for some relief, ability to rest. Today it’s a sore throat, nausea and tender, flaming gums. I’m off to the dentist later to get the tooth repaired which might involve a splint or a root canal and surely more pain. C’est la vie and is it only me irritated by the ubiquitous platitude, “It can always be worse.” Obviously, but why can’t it be better? That’s what I aspire to. So I picked up a guitar, found a pick, dug out song sheets and played for a bit. I need to find a chord chart, could only recall four, which yeah, is one more than a punk needs, but I used to know a few more than that. Riding lessons, a final draft of this damn manuscript and a new CD are 2011 objectives and I’m touring Alberta in April, so onward and upward and Happy New Year!