I’ve been doing the Pagan Blog Project over at Urban Meliad – a blogging-project where you make regular posts on various pagan themes of your choice, but you have to do them in alphabetical order – in order to keep that blog from going entirely into the Pickles and Knitting end of its subject-matter.
I’ve decided to do something like that here – tentatively titled the “Greater Granola Blog Project” in honour of a local term for the folks who generally fall into the left-wing, sex-positive, queer, kinky, geeky, poly, bowl of fruits and nuts – although I’ll get into the “why” of this decision in another post or two.

Right. So, moving right along:

A is for Aid – As in “First Aid”

We went camping this weekend and – amazingl[1] – I managed to avoid injury right up until about an hour before we were due to leave. And then, of course, I hurt myself.

Specifically, I stubbed my toe on a rock that, being a sharp rock, obligingly peeled back just shy of a square centimetre of skin and set me to bleeding rather a lot.

Now, as it happens, it looked a lot worse than it was. Gravity’s a bit of a Thing, so feet bleed a lot when they get cut, and I was briefly afraid that I’d actually taken quite the chunk out of my toe.

Not the case, as it turned out (YAY!!!), but I still spent the next few minutes sitting on a picnic table with my leg elevated (thank you, years of figure modeling), quietly cursing myself for not knowing a forest equivalent of yarrow[2] for pain-numbing, antiseptic, and blood-clotting properties, while my Ghost ran for the campsight’s first aid kit… and another kit of her own.

Ghost’s kit was, in fact, her sex kit. Which she’d brought camping even though the likelihood that there would be any sex happening was pretty minimal[3]. It was also the kit that had the most useful stuff in it when it comes to cleaning up, and patching up, somebody who’s bleeding.

Alcohol swabs, cotton swabs, she even cut up a glove to make a toe-condom (I have big, fleshy toes… a finger cot is just not enough – we tried) to help keep it clean while we were packing up the last of our stuff.

The only thing she didn’t have was a bandage – woops – but the campsite’s kit had plenty of those.

The moral of this story?

Kinky people: We come prepared. (In more ways than one).

TTFN,
Ms Syren.

[1] This particular place has a LOT of random rocks sticking out of the ground. The last time I was there, I wound up with multiple banged toes before we’d even got the truck unpacked. So “amazingly” is actually pretty accurate.

[2] Yarrow tending to grow in meadows and “disturbed environments” – like the road-sides, empty lots, and public parks that you get in cities – but not so much in forested areas. Crap. 😦

[3] Ghost does not Fuck In Tents (Intense is another story, mind you) because the wetspots are a million times worse when, essentially, you’re screwing in a 4x7x4 polyester bag with some structural integrity built in. And, of course, fucing not in tents, while at a campground that is occupied by people other than you and yours, is, well, rude. Your scene is not everybody’s scene, and all that.