There is a moment of clarity that comes to you the second you mistakenly slice thru your hand with an exacto blade.
Its like a Wintogreen Lifesaver, the first few seconds are cool and almost refreshing.
And then, your mind plays catch up with the situation and your hand is now on fire.
And the word “Fuck” becomes involved.
And you spend the next 5-10 minutes doing two things at once.
The first thing is stop the blood flow.
That tells you how bad it is.
If it overwhelms the paper towel and begins dripping on the floor, you are screwed.
Have you tried to get blood out of carpeting?
Plus, that is a big indicator that you will need to go to the emergency.
Mainly because if you lose too much of the red go-go juice, you fall over and die.
The second thing you do is wonder, often times out loud, how you could be that stupid.
Its never your proudest moment.
Thankfully, I was sober.
Being sober means that my mother will not Tsk Tsk me and tell me “Thats what you get”.
Like its a choice anyone would make, sober or drunk as a Lohan.
(By the way, thats pretty shit-faced to judge by the news and eye-witness reports)
Luckily, I managed to stop the blood flow and the edges of the cut came together without having to mess with any self-doctored crazy glue closures.
It would suck to end up in the Emergency room to get stitches AND have my crazy glued fingers cut off of the wound.
I got enough trouble.
Plus, the property management company that handles my house just had the place tented for fumigation.
I didn’t notice any buggage going on, but evidently the guy that lives in the back was watching termites flying around in his living room and threatened a lawsuit.
So, in perfect knee-jerk reaction, they decided to tent the house.
Not a bad idea.
I never notice things till they get out of hand, so there could be serious, life and health threatening buggage going on and I might never be the wiser.
So lets destroy the illegal house guests before they get anymore comfy than they already are.
So now I am a gypsy.
A wounded gypsy.
Such is life.
And if that is as difficult as life gets for the next few months, my life is a fucking cakewalk.
Trust me on that one.
I am one of those people that, for some godawful reason, people tell me their problems.
I am like a bartender you tell your troubles to, just without the alcohol.
Plus, there is the chance that I will change your name and put your situation in the blog.
And when that one backfires on me, it is never pretty.
But there are those out there that, while you may not suspect it, have an incredibly hard road.
So I try not to bitch.
I didn’t say I was successful, key word there is try.