Yesterday I managed once again to be on the receiving end of a wound of unknown origin. Random injuries are a daily thing for me. If I haven’t successfully hurt myself, broken something, or stained a piece of clothing, I haven’t gotten out of bed yet. I am currently in possession of the aforementioned cut (a scratch embedded in the fleshy part of my palm, rendering the comfort of Bandaids impractical), as well as at least four others. I won’t catalogue them for you (because who wants to read a list of cuts, bangs, bruises, and abrasions?), but in the interest of full disclosure I’ll admit that two shirts have also been harmed in the making of this weekend: one last night, splattered by spaghetti sauce (another good reason I don’t often cook) and the second this morning, dipped into my peanut butter toast breakfast.
I’ve resigned myself to this fate and I can’t say it even bothers me all that much, once the initial pain and throbbing reminders are doused by time, medicine, or — in the case of the stained clothing — laundry detergent. There are even a few advantages to a life of accident pronness. (Another thing I’m prone to doing: creating new words.) For one thing, there’s hope that my minor daily pains are a hedge against occasional catastrophic ones. This may be flawed logic — after all, one of my first actions upon this Earth was to undergo open-heart surgery — but I’m optimistic. Other advantages include the bonding that occurs when swapping tales of injuries past, and ever-increasing background knowledge for my writing. Flimsy, yes. But they’re all I’ve got, and since I’ve had this penchant for accidental pain for over thirty years, I’ve learned to appreciate the good points and try not to wonder about tomorrow.
I went to school with a girl so accident prone (always with a limb in a sling or in plaster), I was convinced she would die before reaching 16. I really worried about her. Unnecessarily, it turns out. She grew up and became an accountant. š
Ha ha, I agree that those demonic-eyed kitties might know more than they’re telling. I’ve been known to injure myself WHILE SLEEPING. You know, stretch at the same time I’m turning over in bed and completely wrench my back. Tough to explain to others! Please take care…
Conda, an excellent point. I think you might be right there.
Wow, Mary! I’m glad to hear that she made it out of high school alive. š I hope that she’s become less accident-prone as she has grown older.
Sandi, I’ve done that, too! It’s usually my neck, though. And, yeah, I’ve had trouble explaining it. Isn’t sleep supposed to be relaxing and restorative, not dangerous? At least I haven’t fallen out of bed since I was a little kid.
i buy that logic. and if my hundred papercuts at work are any indication…i’m good for life! š
I managed to give myself a paper cut with a folder. It looks like I tried to take the top of my thumb off with a dull blade. It hurts too. sniff.
Oh, Eileen–you have my total sympathies. Those are the worst! Poor baby. (I tend to get them under my thumbnail when I’m reaching for the folder. Ye-owch!)
Wow, yes, you’re like me! I have so many ruined clothes, I can’t tell you. At this point, I don’t mind if there’s “only one” stain that won’t come out. Hubby does. And white is my best color, unfortunately. If I eat, i will spill it on myself.
I burn almost everything I make unless DH is around to make sure I don’t. It’s just a fact of life, I guess. I don’t hear the timers.
Virginia, paper cuts are so painful! May they protect you from even worse.
Eileen, believe it or not, I’ve done that, too. It hurts like crazy. Poor dear. I hope you heal quickly.
Pam, haven’t gotten a folder cut right there, but I can imagine it would be very painful. Why, oh why weren’t humans issued tougher skin?
Spyscribbler, I’m really starting to think it goes hand-in-hand with creativity, as Conda mentioned. And I feel your pain with the white. I love to wear white, but I can never get away with it. When I find a good white shirt for a decent price, I’ve been known to stock up. š
I thought ‘Pronness’ was already a word. : “to give one’s word”.-make a pronness, etc
I’ve broken many a pronness in my time…broken a lot of stuff, really… spilled even more. Wearing black helps with the coffee stains.
LOL, Allan! Yeah. That must be it indeed. Guess I was just confused. š