I Have An Owie

So I’ve been hors de combat for a few days due to a cut finger.  Which is sort of embarrassing, but still . . .

A few nights ago I was cutting up some lemongrass, which as I’m sure you know is a tough, fibrous plant.  The knife slipped and took a big slice out of my left index finger.  The knife was serrated and carved a wavy line so irregular that it never did close up properly.  (And hasn’t still.  I’m just generating new flesh in the gaps.)

The blood came out in rivers.  (Small rivers, admittedly.)  Blood all over the kitchen, all over the floor, all over the bathroom.  It took a good deal of effort to bandage my finger tightly enough to keep the red stuff from pouring out.

And then there was a lot of pain.  That first night, I didn’t get much sleep.

So for a few days there I didn’t do any writing, or any posting, unless it was necessary.  I’m a touch typist, and the left index finger is responsible for six whole keys.  First, it hurt (a lot!) to type with that finger, and second, the finger was so heavily bandaged that it kept mashing more than one key at a time, and made a complete mess.

I could have tried to revert to hunting-and-pecking, but it was too awkward with one of my peckers damaged.  So to speak.

But now it’s better, and I’m down to a simple adhesive strip, and though it still hurts a bit I’m able to type normally, and I’m writing away great guns on the current project.

Still, it was embarrassed to be knocked out of action by an owie on one finger.  (I should probably have invented a more stirring, manly injury for myself, but we’re committed to honesty here on the Internets, as I’m sure we all know.)

And speaking of more substantial injuries, nine years ago today I was in the hospital, fighting for my life against a burst appendix.

So by comparison every day is a good day.  Even days on which I slash myself.