It wasn’t a “scratch” or something like that. Julie likes to make light of the intense pain and suffering I endure. Alas, this too shall pass. As proof, I offer these pathetic pictures — that I had to take all by myself, by the way. Try taking a picture of your right pinkie with an SLR camera. Not you, Catherine. You’re left-handed.
I know, it’s amazing I’m able to keep it together as well as I do. Tough as nails, this one. You would have been scared as well. The doctor brought out what can only be described as a machete to cut the “growth” out of my finger to try and stem the infection that was sure to race up my arm to my brain, likely ending my life. She brought a few extra nurses in to witness the complicated procedure. Either that or they just wanted to make sure that I didn’t pass out while they stuck a needle as thick as a ball point pen into my finger. I wasn’t sure which hurt more — being gouged with that blunt object (the needle) or having the doctor take the machete and nearly amputate my right pinkie at the top knuckle. Hopefully I’ll keep my nail. My hand model career might be over either way, though, so maybe it’s OK if it goes. I’ll just look tougher, something I’ve been working on for a few months now. In any event, crisis averted. I am alive. And it no longer hurts to put my right hand in my pocket to get my cell phone for all those calls I get.
Some of you know that I spent about 10 days in Phoenix, most of which (as per usual with me) were spent wallowing in self-pity. I think I stopped breathing for about 15 seconds when I first went into our house down there. But a few days of cleaning it up made me realize what a drama queen I am. Though it was a surprisingly emotional thing. If I can only get someone to take a baseball bat and go find the tenants . . . maybe not a good idea. So we decided to put the house on the market, along with 55,000 others. Hopefully ours will shine through and all will be well. I think all will be well no matter what happens. Lessons learned have been valuable. Thank you, all, for your help. Mom & Dad, Julie thinks I get too spoiled down there. I think it’s OK.
We won our softball game last night, 22-2. I hit a home run, if you can believe it. Not an over-the-fence home run. It was more like one of those hit it to the idiot in right center field and watch them miss the ball while I round the bases kind of thing. But a home run nonetheless. I don’t think that the other team was that bad. We just had one of those nights where we were channeling a higher power. The other team was channeling . . . well . . . a team like ours. It was fun. Afterward our neighbors got out their projector and showed The Three Amigos on the lawn up on the side of their house. Amigos were falling from the sky, Lucy ate at least a pound of skittles, and we were all very tired by the time we went to bed past midnight. Who am I kidding? It’s 12:18 right now. I’m rarely in bed before midnight.
It was a good day of football for the Pac-10. I’ll just leave it at that, in hopes of avoiding another flame war.
Julie really dislikes these blocky themes I always put up. We have pretty different tastes, apparently. I needed something a little more basic. And boring. And without Comic Sans, which, as it turns out, is the stupidest font in the history of fonts. People think that if they use Comic Sans that they’re suddenly a scrapbooking genius with their original lettering. Uh. Wrong. So you’ll have to bear with my plain themes. Until the next time Julie logs in and changes it, that is.
