And so, in the endless saga of the universe telling me to go fuck myself, I have another wondrous stumbling block duly shoved into my life.
Last night around ten in the evening I was doing laundry (and going for some leftovers at the same time) and I found a coca-cola glass under a shirt on my floor.
With my foot.
And so, lo and behold, it crunched and fucked up my foo with a nice ~3 inch long gash down to muscle. With some quick thinking, I was able to apply pressure, paper towels and duct tape all while fighting a rather surprising bout of unconsciousness and possibly shock that I hadn't expected from something so otherwise minor.
After a few hours waiting in the hospital, a nurse finally checked on the injury itself. By that I mean she cut my duct tape bandage, took a look at the wound and taped my raggity, blood engorged bandage back closed.
Just shy of five hours in the hospital I was finally treated by the exceedingly slow people of Frederick Memorial Hospital and received all of four stitches. I wasn't home until after three in the morning.
Now I'm stuck unable to work and without insurance. Fun.
At least I just got a paycheck, that might cover a fraction of it. Time to go into debt with my family
TL;DR: I became an alacorn princess and then cut my foot and can't rule the magical land of Equestria or get paid for a week at minimum.