Some weekend
I did a ton of stuff this weekend. I volunteered (though not as much as I should have--more on that in a sec), saw a ton of people, played a bunch of card games (in which I was handedly dumped on because I advertised that I believe being ruthless is victory--might have tipped my hand too early there), and got to go peruse Michael's with my former roommate for some invitation ideas. I even put in some time with The Darkness video game, which I had a new urging to play after coming back from the 30-minute demo at PAX East. I played Rock Band, people. I hadn't done that in ages. I ended up staying up too late customizing a character and a logo for my band, which lead to me oversleeping on Sunday and canceling volunteering that day.
Karma came for me with a vengeance as a result, alas. Fully intending to continue on, eating and breaking hearts as Jackie Estacado, I took a break from gaming (instead of volunteering! my guilt! let me show you it!) to have some cheese. I had some aged gouda that I'd picked up and that would have made a lovely snack. It's a hard cheese, so I thought I'd chip away at it with a knife.
....guess how well that went? In a second, I sliced deep into my index finger. This is probably the deepest I've ever cut myself, though I did once cut that same exact spot with an exacto knife once. I could see a few millimeters through the cut which led to a minor freakout. I thought I was going to die. Or have to go to the hospital to get stitches, which is just as bad because there would have gone my Sunday. My roommates were super awesome--and awesomely prepared--with sterile gauze, antibacterial gel, and pressure bandage to help me out. They also, very sweetly, sat around while I played more video games (holding my controller over my head to make the blood stop gushing from my finger) to make sure I wasn't going to need to go to the hospital. It bled a little every time I changed the bandage, so I went to be Sunday still tempted to go to my doctor to check it on Monday, still half-convinced that my finger was going to fall off. Typing was really hard because I couldn't put pressure on my index finger without it throbbing a bit (I think it was jarring the still-closing wound). Which is why I'm typing this today, not yesterday.
Perhaps you can tell that when it comes to injury, I'm a total and complete wuss. Sickness I can usually handle, and I'm not a hyperchondriac. But one little scrape, and suddenly I have visions of myself dying of sepsis. This is healthy. Anyway, today I'm oodles better, can type just fine, and I'm down to a band-aid instead of gauze-and-bandage. I'm even doing stuff with fine motor work! I am still shying clear of all scalpels, razor blades and overly sharp scissors at work, though.I wish I could say that I'm going to remember this the next time I decide to pierce myself, but a) I hope that never happens again, and b) I'm sure I'll still freak out about losing digits if it does.
None of that is hyperbole, by the by. I was really that worried. I need to remember that my life is not a Victorian moral and that I'm not literally going to be poisoned by cheese knife to death as revenge for not volunteering to save poor, defenseless kittens.
Karma came for me with a vengeance as a result, alas. Fully intending to continue on, eating and breaking hearts as Jackie Estacado, I took a break from gaming (instead of volunteering! my guilt! let me show you it!) to have some cheese. I had some aged gouda that I'd picked up and that would have made a lovely snack. It's a hard cheese, so I thought I'd chip away at it with a knife.
....guess how well that went? In a second, I sliced deep into my index finger. This is probably the deepest I've ever cut myself, though I did once cut that same exact spot with an exacto knife once. I could see a few millimeters through the cut which led to a minor freakout. I thought I was going to die. Or have to go to the hospital to get stitches, which is just as bad because there would have gone my Sunday. My roommates were super awesome--and awesomely prepared--with sterile gauze, antibacterial gel, and pressure bandage to help me out. They also, very sweetly, sat around while I played more video games (holding my controller over my head to make the blood stop gushing from my finger) to make sure I wasn't going to need to go to the hospital. It bled a little every time I changed the bandage, so I went to be Sunday still tempted to go to my doctor to check it on Monday, still half-convinced that my finger was going to fall off. Typing was really hard because I couldn't put pressure on my index finger without it throbbing a bit (I think it was jarring the still-closing wound). Which is why I'm typing this today, not yesterday.
Perhaps you can tell that when it comes to injury, I'm a total and complete wuss. Sickness I can usually handle, and I'm not a hyperchondriac. But one little scrape, and suddenly I have visions of myself dying of sepsis. This is healthy. Anyway, today I'm oodles better, can type just fine, and I'm down to a band-aid instead of gauze-and-bandage. I'm even doing stuff with fine motor work! I am still shying clear of all scalpels, razor blades and overly sharp scissors at work, though.I wish I could say that I'm going to remember this the next time I decide to pierce myself, but a) I hope that never happens again, and b) I'm sure I'll still freak out about losing digits if it does.
None of that is hyperbole, by the by. I was really that worried. I need to remember that my life is not a Victorian moral and that I'm not literally going to be poisoned by cheese knife to death as revenge for not volunteering to save poor, defenseless kittens.