(diaryland) August 18, 2010 - 10:16 a.m.

For about thirty seconds this morning, I had blissfully forgotten, but then the grim reality of the events of the evening before hit me brutally, like a cartoon anvil.

I remembered: last night, at about 9:30PM, my left big toenail fell off.

This event had been a long time in the making. This hideous happening had its origins many months ago, when I did that goddamn half marathon on the Great Ocean Road. I'd forgotten to cut my toenails the night before, so they were bumping around in my shoe for those many hours when I came nearly last. A few days later, my left big toenail was purple and floppy.

It had held on for dear life until last night. I was sitting on the couch, watching the TV, when suddenly, I realised that there was a GIANT TOENAIL loose in my sock.

When I panic, I laugh. So, I froze, started to giggle, and say, "Oh, my God. Oh, my God," many, many times.

Roland was like, "What?"

After I told him that there was a dead toenail rattling around in my sock, I don't think he could look me in the eye for a while anymore.

I reached into my sock, pulled out the offending object, and then without looking, began to walk briskly to the outside bin. This dead toenail couldn't languish in a bin inside the house, waiting there insidiously to be tossed out. No way.

I still wasn't brave enough to see what my foot looked like, yet. That time would arrive much, much later on. But as I was speeding through the kitchen, I dared to open up my hand to have a look at the toenail itself.

It looked so peaceful and lifelike, there in my hand. It looked like I could have glued it back on. But I knew it was time to part ways.

Now I know what the underneath bit of a toe, and presumably a finger, is like. It's quite hard and has no feelings.