Mai me ow--no more!

I was full of enough vinegar that I did concerted, focused, muscle-building exercises: I spent a goodly while curling and pressing all the muscles in my upper and lower limbs. I've been dreaming about running obstacle courses lately, and maybe if I can start recovering some muscle mass I'll one day have enough fast twitch muscles to jog and jump.

So then I went to the massage place, and my usual lady, who has learned to use the baby touch on me, was having dinner, so it was a much more... enthusiastic experience (enthusiastic in her approach, anyway) that left me limping out to the first of two songtaus.

And then it seemed prudent to stagger up to the songtau for the next leg, which had just stopped for a red light.

I should've known the light was stale, that it was dark and raining and my waving might not be noticed.

Which is about as likely as making it through an hour of sixth grade without the classroom of Thai adolescents noticing--and making great ado at the opportunity to make great ado--that your fly is down.

I had just enough weight on the back to haul myself up, but was caught under just enough surprise, just far enough from my center of gravity to drop my ass on the pavement. Especially since I was busy gloating about not having to hail one of the mototaxis, for four times the price of the songtau back.

I should've guessed, but I didn't. And when traffic thinned on the green-light direction, the songtau took the four-second jump on the red light. With me not quite on.

Initially, I was screaming to slow down so I could haul my aching self--along with a backpack holding a couple big bottles of carbonated caffeine, three litres of water, a couple bricks of cream cheese, crackers, and some pseudo-sausage--up onto the songtau: think, "WAIT!"

But then I was screaming to "AAAAAAIT STOOOOOP!" as I started to fall.

And then I was just screaming at this anit-typical, stereotype-busting, renaissance-oriented songtau driver as a backpack strap caught and I found myself on a face-down trip across the intersection.

Good news: I was up and out of the intersection before any other traffic came through.

Other good news: the taxi only charged my dripping wet, bleeding ass the local price.

Even more good news: the souvenirs are limited to deep raspberries on both knees, both elbows, both palms, up my right thumb, across my left toes, and on the top of my right foot (love the sandals).

Bad news: I'm out of happy drugs.

Funny: I could've sworn I was done waking up to the crackle of roadrash.