Today's misdirectional use of the word bloody in the post title comes from a text that I sent the Ontario office, complaining about the fact that I'd just cut myself. On the fingertip, in fact. Oddly enough, when I sent the words stupid bloody fingertips I meant it literally for a change. I'd just bandaged the bloody thing up. Not before I'd managed to goob up my computer keyboard a bit from not noticing that I'd cut myself, unfortunately, but there you go. Bloody became bloody appropriate for a change.
How many of you would like me to stop using the word bloody right about now? Oh, ok. I'll give it a shot, but I'm not promising the end result.
Why do fingertips have to be such a bother when they're injured, anyway? The silly things don't seem to like to stop bleeding in the first place, and then when you do succeed in bandaging them up and fixing whatever mess is left over, the bandage itself just becomes an annoyance of the first order. Especially in our computer-dependent age. In case you were wondering, today's post comes to you courtesy of the letter S and its friends that the fingertip in question should be taking care of but currently isn't.
I'll tell you, I'm a pretty slip-shod touch typist these days (sorry, Mom, but somewhere along the line I seem to have come up with a finger style that works better for my personal screwed-upedness), but times like these prove to me that a touch typist I am all the same.
Man, this is giving the backspace button a workout.
Anyway, before anyone decides to give me a lesson in fingertip vascularisation and how important it is (in other words, yes I do actually know why the bloody things bleed so well so you don't have to explain it, thanks awfully), I think I should end this physical challenge of a post and go grumbling off into the sunset.
Or at least back to work.
With, apparently, nine functioning digits and one bandaged pain in the whatever that I can't take the bandage off yet or it will just start bleeding again.
I tell you, life is hard.
Yes, I am overexaggerating the crippling finger injury. I'm allowed. I'm a five-year-old, remember? A five-year-old who can't currently type...
2 comments:
Hi Dee, Have you seen Smudgers post on here lately. A few woodsies, earthlings and waterlings were asking about her and Mel. There is an entire group of coolsiggers meeting on Facebook. It's quite odd to see their real names, like Dena Watkins. Some I knew like you and Splash aka Tom. And of course Helen, silent angel as Helen and i have sent snail mail to each other. We bought a home in the mountains. I am going to become a chicken farmer. Only for the eggs, and only for myself. But I might barder with my neighbor. Later. I love poppies. Hopefully up in the mountains I will be able to grow them.
Congrats on the new home -- I know you'd wanted to move for quite a while.
Smudgers is around. She's just not on the internet as much as she used to be. We keep in touch, though.
Post a Comment