So this might be cheating…

Fact 333: I stabbed a fork into my finger

Most of you know this already. At least, those of you that I talk to often do anyway. But, I think it was Easter weekend, I got a brand new set of utensils for my apartment. I was all excited. They were these silver and blue ones in this nice wire basket sorter. With those pain in the ass little plastic twists that you have to cut off.

Disaster.

Being brilliant (that was a day of the dumbs for sure) and being unable to locate the scissors, I got a knife. Now, I’m not entirely stupid, so I knew well enough to cut away from my body. I managed to cut through the spoons, and the first set of forks with no problems.

I started sawing through the second last piece of plastic. And I shifted my hand to get a better angle. And it worked, it cut a lot faster. Unfortunately I didn’t realise this fast enough. And the plastic broke and my fist smashed into the forks.

Instant pain. And reaction was to curl my fingers and pull them back. And when I brought my hand away from the basket and towards my body, there was a fork sticking out of my pinkie finger. I didn’t think, just reacted, and pulled the fork out.

Blood everywhere. Almost gushing. Just the sight of it made me queasy (and writing about it now is making me squeamish) I grabbed the napkins off the top of the fridge and shoved them around my finger and sat down on the floor before I threw up or something. The world was spinning pretty good at that point haha.

I already had gauze in the apartment. Once I could open my hand again (jesus it hurt), I washed up and wrapped it up in gauze and went to work. Ahaha and preceded to gross everyone out to the point where everyone was telling me repeatedly to go to the clinic. Which I eventually did the next day (I think) when it started to sink in that I couldn’t move it right, that it was a nasty shade of purple and perhaps I did do some bad damage. (Which turned out to be tendon damage which has finally mostly healed)

Now I’ve just got a small scar on my pinkie. And when the weather turns bad quickly (and I’m not looking forward to winter) it hurts like a bitch.

Sweet the sin / bitter taste in my mouth

Been singing along with the radio all night long. It’s Laura’s last day tomorrow and it’s a sad thing. I’m gonna miss her like crazy. I’ve been toying with the idea of painting her something. I know she’d like it. Unfortunately this stupid nagging shoulder/neck pain’s made me quite immobile up top. Hell, I cried while getting dressed this morning, it hurt so bad. Stupid pulling of the muscles. I hate them sometimes.
So needless to say, starting this late was a bad idea. It’s not gonna be finished, that I know. But at least it doesn’t look like total crap right now. So a bonus there. Yay me.

Twas Keiran’s birthday the other day. Happy birthday once more. Heh. I think I’ve said it too much so I’ll stop now.

I really should go to bed.

Sick sucks in Summer

So no long and boring rambles today like Friday

I spent most of last night giggling madly at old clips from Sesame Street on YouTube, such as when the Yip-yip aliens discovered the telephone, or Cookie Monster and his poetry readings, or Cookie Monster stealing Ernies Cup-y cakes… So many giggles.  Endless giggles until there were tears from the giggles.

It might’ve been the fever talking, but damn, I had a good time.

Summer-time memories

Man, the crack of dawn is brutal.  So bright and fuzzy-looking outside this morning…. well, hazy, but it looks fuzzy to me.  Heh.

Going up to the cottage for the weekend.  I’ve still got photos I need to post of the cottage for Keiran.  We’re actually going up Friday night too, instead of the usual mid-way through Saturday. I’m thrilled. Honestly too, not sarcastically.

When I was little, as soon as it was warm enough, it’d be off to the cottage after school on friday and stay until Sunday after lunch.  And it was great.  Especially when both my grandparents were still alive.  I miss my opa and oma.  Opa’d dive off the dock and swim forever and ever and ever, waving, then turning and coming back, splashing me where I sat giggling on the dock.  Oma’d always be willing to play “just one more” game of cards or attempt to teach me one more time to knit.  Or Opa’d pick me up and toss me back on my bed once I’d slid out, both of us laughing (my mattress on my bed when I was little was too big for the frame – great for bouncing on, but it’d constantly be sliding off the bed)

One of my favourite memories from when I was younger at the cottage was when we re-did the lower roof.  I was… maybe 4.  Somewhere between 4 and 5 at least.  I can’t remember exactly.  Anyway, I was young ;) and my opa and my dad were re-shingling the roof (Actually, on after-thought, I think there were a few more people helping, like an uncle or two, but I don’t really remember that part).  And I wanted to be a good girl and help.  Actually, I just wanted to be where all the action was, to have fun with the guys.  I didn’t wanna play in our wading pool on the deck anymore.  I wanted to SEE what was going on.  So I tried to climb the ladder.  My oma would have nothing to do with that.  I wasn’t going up there; I’d surely fall and get hurt (ahahah if it was me now, yeah, for sure!)

So, being the handful that I am, I decided that nothing was going to stop me from getting up there.  After several unsuccessful attempts at the ladder (with my dad and opa watching from the roof, laughing of course!) I sat down to pout.  And plan.  I’m devious, I know that.  And I formed the perfect plan.

I snuck inside, under the guise that I was going to the washroom.  Crept up the stairs and shut the bathroom door, dashing into the room we all shared and climbed onto my bed.  My bed was directly under the window that overlooked the roof they were on.  A few good bounces on the trampoline-bed didn’t quite get me out the window. I was still too short.So I pried the screen off with my fingertips, sliding it to the side.  My sister still slept in a crib at the end of my bed, so I climbed up on the railing of that, stood very very carefully on the edge and leapt – head first – out the window.

I was discovered pretty quickly by the men.  My oma was horrified that I got up there after all and wanted me down.  But opa and dad let me stay.  I was happy a clam up there, sorting nails and “helping” hammer them into the roof.

I miss days like those.

I miss my sanity. Has anyone seen it?

I love the smell of freshly washed laundry. I’m sitting on my bed, surrounded by the smell of snuggle fabric softener, and I am in heaven. Simple pleasures.

I’ve been having a rough go recently. I’m trapped in this rut and I’m struggling to find my feet. I need to get out of it, but I’m not sure I know how. I’m not even sure I know how to try. And that scares me more than anything.

I spent half an hour re-doing my budget. And I get the feeling that it was completely pointless. But at least I’ve got an idea of how I stand financially. And that helps me feel a little less like I’m on shaky ground.

I read something the other day that made my heart smile for more reasons than I’d care to list and brought a tear or two to my eyes. Happy tears though. I don’t know if I want to go into details or not, as it’ll likely sound pretty damn stupid. But it made me so happy. A lot, and when I say lot – I mean lot, of who I am today can be related back to moments involving something or other in relation to the article. It helped me develop a stronger sense of self back in a time when I had no self. It helped me find my feet. And some other time when I’m not so… mentally deficient, I’ll better explain. Or sometime when I’m not already feeling well, not mocked but it’s the only word I can think of right now, by the issue.

I was going to update my random lyrics. But I’m still rather stuck on it. So be it. Maybe later I’ll get off my Raine kick. Doubtful though ;) since it’s been an addiction for what…. Fuck, has it really been 10 years?  Maybe not quite.  8 or 9.  But as my eyes are blurring and burning I think that’s a sign to say À bientôt and go to bed.