Ouch, dammit

Today's pointless photo is of aphids. Why? I dunno. It's been a bad year for them, though. Or, rather, a good year for them but not so much for those of us who could do without them in the garden.

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On to today's whinge.

I am far too young (shut up. I am too) to have this many aches and pains. At the moment the wrist that I buggered up years ago is complaining, which it does every now and then. I should probably go find my tensor since compression seems to help, but apparently I've decided to complain about it instead.

And for anyone who actually checks out the other blog now and then, part of me wants to moan about the wrist and then say see? This is what happens when I attempt to paint. Have to admit, though, that I was kind of sore before the painting part.

I have loose categories for my various injured joints and scars, and the wrist falls under the category of General Stupidity (as does the bad knee. Type the word knee into the search box at the top of the page if you don't already know that story. I'm not in the mood to type it again). As to the wrist, for future reference and since I always like people to learn from my mistakes: if you're ticked off at having to clean up someone else's mess just before a big event, don't let it escalate into a full-on terrible twos tantrum. If you do, you're liable to hurt at least one part of your body as you angrily fold tables. And then to make it worse, you'll be reminded of that moment of general stupidity fifteen-some years ago every time the ache comes back. Trust me, the instant gratification of an angry fit was sooo not worth the consequences.

Ah yes. SOMEONE has a temper. Since I know I have one I make a point of trying to control it so that it doesn't come out that often, but when it does somebody's liable to get hurt.

Usually me.

Anyway.

Are there other injuries under the General Stupidity banner, you ask? Well, I suppose we could add the scar on my wrist (gained by catching my arm on an exposed screw while performing in a skit held in the women's washroom at work. Yeah, I think you had to be there...), the minor concussion I gave myself by running into a tree during a pond study (did I already say I think you had to be there?), and the divot up in my hairline from a number of years back that I caused myself by slamming my head into the corner of the bathroom vanity's open door when I went to flip my hair over to backcomb it a bit.

That last one bled. A lot. And gave me a General Stupidity scar that has since added a couple of unexpected wrinkles to my forehead because the muscle underneath contracts differently now. Yay me.





Sorry, I had to take a moment to visit with the cat. He wants ooout, you know, and it seems that my father doesn't care.

Where was I? Oh yeah. Proclaiming my General Stupidity to the internet world at large.

There are more injuries in that category, of course, but I think I might just leave them for another time. There's a Not My Fault category that we might discuss at some point as well, and a What? I'm A Lefty group that's always good for a few choice expletives. The point (point? Ack! Pumpkin!) is that, considering that I was never a member of the Dangerous Sports Club or even mildly athletic, I've managed to get myself fairly banged up over the years. It never seems like much at the time (ok, once it did. Tearing the hell out of my ankle and being bandaged up for six weeks seemed like much at the time because it was), but as you get older (I'M NOT OLD. And shut up, world) it turns out to be a lot more than a person bargained for.

That, frankly, sucks.





Now excuse me while I creak my way up the stairs and go find some lunch.