It really takes a special person to injure themselves doing practically nothing at all. And if there’s one way I always classify myself, it’s special. Well, that and forgetful. As in total flake. Just this morning I remembered that Rachel was going to be receiving an award in the morning assembly for modeling good behavior. The assembly was last Friday. And I can’t even use one of my nonsensical injuries as an excuse. I just forgot, mere hours after finding out about it.
Say what you want about your achy marathon legs or the scrapes and bruises you got from that extreme obstacle course. I have real, honest-to-God injuries that I acquired by just BEING. First off, I have a camel splinter. Most people worry about the spitting or the biting and don’t even realize that the real dangers of camels lies in the petting, as in their fur is filled to the brim with tiny dagger-like needles, just ripe for being embedded into delicate fingers like mine. Nothing like searing pain ripping through your arm every 2 minutes to alert you that you tend to grip everything in the world with the exact same point of your middle finger where the camel splinter lieth.
At this point I see no way of getting it out other than performing minor surgery on myself, so I figure I’ll just play the game of “let’s see if it gets infected” before getting too crazy with the straight pin sterilized with a lighter. Do I even have a lighter?
Then last night I attempted to rescue Tiger from eating a balled-up Hershey Kiss wrapper, and to thank me, he clawed the shit out of my right hand (the camel splinter-free hand). Like, he hooked my finger with his claw and shook it and I wanted to die. If you’re going to ask me why there were empty Hershey Kiss wrappers next to me on the couch, you may as well ask me why I even attempted to save this wretched cat from eating it in the first place, because the answer to both of those questions is I DON’T KNOW. What I do know is that I have discovered my pain threshold, and it is “cat claw puncture in the pinkie finger. Also ring finger.”
And THEN today I practically paralyzed myself putting my hair into a ponytail, which makes perfect sense, given the increasingly diminished use of my hands. Some people would probably say “Maybe you shouldn’t be such a mom and wear your hair in a ponytail all the time,” and then I would say, “Maybe you should come a little closer, because I haven’t showered in 3 days and I think you need to smell this.”
So I did my usual early morning supermodel-esque tossing back of the hair, while simultaneously lifting up my arms to gather it up into a messy bun (before messy buns came with a 7-step process and a pinnable image), and there was a popping? Or maybe a snapping? There was definitely a shooting pain, and then I couldn’t move my head. I spent the rest of the morning turning my entire body every time I need to face something or someone, like a robot, only I think most robots can even turn their robot necks.
In conclusion! Camels are terrible selfie takers with dangerous fur, cats are assholes, both of my hands are likely teeming with infection. The only thing to do now is look straight ahead to the future. Because I physically can’t look elsewhere.