Thursday, August 12, 2010


Every few months I have a few days when I'm convinced I should be locked in a padded room. I'm not sure if it's the moon or equilibrium problems or what, but I seem to be accident prone for a few days. Could it be the blonde that peeks out at me when I need to color or little distractions that cause me to unwittingly injure myself? I'm just not sure. It started a couple of days ago doing laundry. I literally brushed my knee against the dryer door. It wasn't a bang, or a boom and it didn't even hurt that badly, but I have one heck of a bruise on my right knee. There's also a scratch that accompanies it. This makes no sense considering the smoothness of the door itself. I suppose my fair complexion contributes to the darkness of the bruise. This, I can do nothing about. I'm also going to continue to wear shorts regardless of the pretty purple affliction on my knee. It's been hotter than the surface of the sun lately (ok, that's a bit of an exaggeration and I would just like to point that out in case you, dear reader, thought the surface of the sun was around 100 degrees. It is, in fact, much hotter) and I will risk damage to my beautiful porcelain skin (this is called sarcasm, children, and is used in this instance because of the ginormous amount of freckles that seem to be multiplying on my previously mentioned epidermus) to be about 3 degrees cooler. After all, three degrees is three degrees.

While making casserole Monday I burned my finger. Much to my changrin a blister didn't immediately appear. You see, without a blister or other assorted marks, there was no attestation to the pain I had encountered. There was simply my word. And boy, oh boy, was my word colorful! I complained about it for nearly 10 minutes (with other gripes here and there throughout the night) and needed proof to confirm that I wasn't simply being a drama queen (a few weeks ago a metal grate of a deal fell on a bone on my wrist. While recovering from that I somehow managed to let a window fall on my hand. These experiences happened within 2 minutes of one another so pain dances were performed and words were uttered that made Nathan look at me like I had come from the ninth circle of hell. Only a tiny purpley tint emerged to affirm that I had been injured. It was a miniscule mark to show tiny slivers of death that went all the way to my elbow. I was disappointed) and that I had ample reason to put off finishing the casserole another 15 minutes or so. The next morning a beautful blister adorned my middle finger! I paraded it around as if it were my second born child. Dear, sweet justificaton!! Of course, I'm sure they believed all along that it hurt like a bitch, but I wanted to give them something concrete. Thank you little blister for presenting yourself. You make me happy...kinda.

Tonight I was bored. Nathan and I were having our "talk time" on the couch and he was using it to work on his comic book of "Spike and Cy" while ignoring me. I tried fruitlessly to attain and keep his attention. I walked dinosaurs across the couch singing "doopy doopy dooo" and pretended to fry up a spider silly band. Both of these attempts were met with a "What the heck?!" and a giggle after which he returned to the land of the cyclops and spiky dude, drawing clouds in each panel. Then I saw them. It should have been a harmless venture really...I was simply going to pick them up, look at them and set them back down. I had spotted needle nosed pliers on Adam's desk. After examining them I noticed they were the type that have the wire cutters at the base near the handles. Uh oh. This would not end well. Of course I didn't think that at the time and started to return them to their previous home when I spotted a paper clip. It wasn't one of those tiny little paper clips either. It was one that would hold about 100 sheets of paper with no problem and had a thick layer of plastic coating. So, I do what any red blooded American would do...I cut the paper clip with the wire cutters. This took quite a bit of umph being that it was a thick paper clip and the cutters weren't very sharp.'ve probably guessed it by now. When the clip finally gave and went flying I realized my hand was in the area where the springy part was. For this little brain blocked moment, I have proof already. Two tiny blood blisters. Moral of that story? Don't give Steph sharp objects when she's bored. Just don't.

But despite all my clumsiness, with a dash of luck and a sprinkle of divine intervention, I remain in one piece. For this, we can be grateful.