Attainable Goal: Exchange damaged/worthless spray adhesive without customer service rep thinking I stole it.
Grievance: Big Love has seemed to be quite upset lately.
Celebration: My birthday has lasted for 3 days now. I just spent birthday money from Cheetah to get workout clothes, and have not actually worked out since my birthday.
I have not written in so long. It seems as if decades have passed, dear blog. Oh, how I have missed the mental release you provide...the focus you give my helter-skelter brain...the opportunity to make lemonade of some of my daily lemons. I hope you have missed me as well, but I am sure you appreciated the break.
I have been lacksadaisical toward blogging for the soul purpose that I have zero feeling in my left pointer finger. In case you were unaware, I decided about a week ago that it would be a fantastic idea to stick my finger in an immersion blender (you know, those really neat stick-looking blenders that you hold in your hand like an electric eggbeater) and then turn it on. Why this appealed to me at the time, I have no idea.
It was a Stepford Wife moment, really. I had gotten the kids so they were somewhat content, I had straightened the house, and I thought it would be really neat to have Big Love come home to the smell and taste of freshly baked cookies. I had stumbled upon a recipe on this recipe swap site that looked amazing. They were peanut butter cookies that had a hidden peanut butter cream inside. My minds eye had a video clip of Big Love walking in, looking around, smelling the air, and getting a big smile on his face after his long day at work. He would then embark on an immediate search for the source of the intoxicating smell, find a rack of warm cookies to greet him, take a bite into the creamy center and let out the happy sigh. I love the happy sigh. Unfortunately, this little movie ne'er did come to fruition.
The first step: mix the peanut butter cream. A great tool: the immersion blender. If you do not have an immersion blender, I highly recommend one. I find many uses for it, and it is SO much more compact than a real blender. The one drawback is that the stuff you are blending tends to get stuck in the apparatus, much like an electric eggbeater, but far worse. Worse to the point that you need to manually clean it out every so often with your finger. Now, being trained almost solely on power saws through college, I know one of the number one rules: unplug anything sharp/fast moving/potentially fatal before handling the most dangerous part of the tool. I chose to ignore this very basic rule for reasons unknown. Perhaps I was just too excited to make cookies. Anyhow, the rest of the incident writes itself. As I was wiping the batter out of the blender, I caught the ON switch with some other part of me. All sorts of things ensued...blood, sweat, tears. I screamed pretty loudly (no swearing though. I beam with pride on that account) which sent the children into hysterics. There was no real pain, but my finger was sliced up real good and blood flowed forth with zeal. I managed to speed dial Big Love, who immediately left work to come home and help with the kids. Once he had arrived, he examined my wounds after the 15 minutes of wicked pressure I was applying. I was still soaking rags with blood and he said it was time to go to the ER. I wanted to do no such thing. ER? Psh. Can't I just throw some butterfly bandages over the slices and call it a night? No, says he. I may need stitches. So kids are packed, new rag for wrapping is applied, and we take a family road trip to the nearest ER.
Big Love left me there and took Baby and Boy in the car to get a late dinner at Sonic. At first I was hesitant to send him off. After all, there was no one waiting in the ER, and it wasn't like I was needing oxygen and major surgery. So Big stayed in the parking lot. As soon as the frazzled looking triage nurse came out the doors and called my name, in walks an elderly woman having heart problems. Obviously my spot in line was relinquished to her, and I was happy to do this for her. I still was the only one waiting. I sent Big Love to Sonic, for there was no point in him waiting until I got called again. As soon as I sent him away, six ambulances came roaring in to the carport. I think that bears repeating. SIX ambulances came, lights spinning, sirens blaring, and wheels speeding up to the automatic double glass doors. I could tell that I was going to be there a while.
As soon as the ambulance came, the waiting room began to fill up with the non-life-threatening emergencies. First in the door was a rather redneck looking bloke, maybe 20, with his parents, with a head injury. It was difficult to not judge him and try to guess the origin of such an injury. A BB gun recoil after playing target practice with crumpled Miller High Life cans? A flying tire iron after attempting to change the patched up tires on his '89 Chevy Pickup? I can only begin to imagine. Next was a young couple toting their 10 month old with a 106 degree fever. Then was a young gentleman experiencing extreme chest pain. After about 30 minutes of waiting after my name was called the first time, the ER was completely full of the ill and ill-at-ease. What was I to do? There were obviously people there with much bigger problems than mine. Head injuries, chest pain, ambulances, and babies come before the able-bodied 25 year old with a boo boo on her finger.
So then I had a dilemma. What was I going to tell Big Love to do? Wait for hours with two children sitting in the car twiddling their thumbs? This was a bad plan. I tried to ask the front desk lady if I could just go home, but no. I had filled out the paperwork and I was getting charged the $250 copay. I may as well get fixed. So I send my boys home to catch some Z's. So then how do I expedite this experience as quickly as possible? Do I play it off like it doesn't bother me at all, in hopes that they let me in for a quick heal and quick discharge? Do I hold my finger and fain extreme, agonizing pain so they take pity on me and let me in? While that sounded entertaining I went for the former option, which worked to my advantage. I was admitted promptly, fixed up, and sent on my way.
I chopped up the nerve endings in my finger, which means that the top of it is completely without feeling. This makes the act of typing an unusual challenge. I often look back on what I have written and see strange letters that I am quite sure I did not press. Of course, I blame the alien finger who now has a mischevious little mind of it's own.
Thanks for your enduring patience with my lack of writing and my inevitable typos. I shall re-enter the world of blogging, starting today, for my own sanity more than anything else.