And as if that wasn't enough, today I pinched my finger really badly on one of the hinges of our plastic tote box things at work. I don't know quite how I did it, but one second I was pushing the cart and the next my finger got smushed. It hurt a LOT, probably the worst pain I've had for quite a while, and it was enough so that my breath went totally away for about thirty seconds. It was one of those things where you immediately regress to infancy in your brain and suddenly you want your mommy. It took me a second before I got up the courage to touch my finger and make sure it was still there. I honestly couldn't tell.
So I spent a few minutes just marveling at how amazingly painful that was, thinking I'd just gotten a little pinch and what other people must have gone through with getting unexpectedly shot, dismembered, or punched. I mean, that's got to be worse than this. But it totally screwed me up for a little bit. I had tears in my eyes off and on for about the next half hour, though it only took about a minute for me to also find it kind of funny.
About an hour after I hurt my finger, I got up the courage to look at it. That's the thing about injuries; I am a bit squeamish about them and I do not want to look. Once I poked my wrist with a boxcutter and I thought maybe I'd sliced my veins open, and I sat there for like a half hour holding my wrist before I got up the courage to look and see it wasn't even bleeding. Hmm, maybe I'm a baby? Urgh. So I looked at it; I was thinking from the way it hurt, maybe it would be swollen or black and blue, and maybe my nail would fall off. I can't tell by looking at my hand which finger was even injured.
I'm typing now, and using that finger to do so. It hurts, but not much. Just mostly around where the nail attaches. Ow, ow, ow. But I don't need worker's comp. SADLY.
Today I daydreamed a lot. Mostly about my books. I was thinking about how I want to write a sort of "prequel" to the series I've already written. (Lots of people want to know some of the background I can't or won't cover in the series.) I decided a while back that it couldn't hurt to write it even if I didn't do anything with it; I have two and a half chapters of it on paper somewhere. Today I was daydreaming some more about scenes I want to do, especially stuff like the reactions of my boys' club (as I'm affectionately calling them) when Adele pokes her nose into their business and ends up running things. Heh. When she ends up bringing Ivy into this mess, that is going to mess things up even more, they're like damn, let a woman live with you and all of a sudden you have to deal with kids too. (Ivy was only like four years old when Adele found her.) But as such I've just got nice little snatches of male bonding with my three weirdos in the wilderness, and Alix complaining that he doesn't like lighting the fire. Aww, poor baby. Weaver is having fun messing with him. He doesn't really deserve it, but he does bitch a lot.
I wish I had the intiative to dust my apartment. This is getting ridiculous.
Yum, time for tater tots.
Ow... I know what you mean - it's makes me panic when I've even just bashed my wrist or just lightly scraped it - I don't even like having pressure applied to my wrists for pulse check .. come to think of it, I don't like it done on my neck either. So don't worry, you ain't a baby for it I think. ~Toraneko~
Ah, poor boo boo. Did your mom kiss your ouchies when you were young? Somehow, I can't seem to remember if she did or did not. But I understand how you feel about being afraid to check out wounds - I got hit in the eye with a pen and I was afraid to check if I was blind or not, so I just closed my eyes for an hour. [katqueen]