Perpetual Smile

I don’t like the pizza place in my neighborhood. I used to like them, when they first opened and were run by a very nice Greek family. That same family opened another restaurant on the other side of town, and a couple years ago sold both of them. They disappeared — and so did the good pizza.

But I thought I might die if I didn’t eat anything soon, so I broke my no-neighborhood-pizza vow and went to buy a couple of slices.

I should have known better.

Carrying my little pizza box in one hand and balancing my wallet on top of it, I climbed the three steps to my house and opened the door. I started to move toward the first floor door — but my left hand didn’t come with me. I turned and saw my left thumb closed in the door, and screamed (because it only hurts when you see it). There may have been a sailor word or two. I put the pizza box down on the stairs (that lead up to the second and third floors), opened the door, and held my hand up for inspection.

The thumb could bend, but it hurt like fucking hell. A little crescent that looked well on its way to black was forming under my nail, but everything still seemed to work okay. So I grabbed my pizza box and went inside.

“Hello,” my mom called from the dining room.

“Hi,” I said. “I closed my thumb in the door.” I put the pizza box down and went to the kitchen sink.

“Ooh,” my mom said.

And then, my spiteful little thumb decided to kick it up a notch. Or I came out of shock. Something like that.

“OW! MOMMY!”

My mom came running into the kitchen. “Cold water,” she said, always the voice of calm.

“OWOWOWOW!” The cold water running over my thumb soothed the pain a little, but every few seconds or so I’d get a huge jolt of OW. After a few minutes of water and then an ice pack, I ate my pizza and then went back upstairs wishing I could take my thumb off for the time being and put it in the freezer with the ice pack.

I decided to suck it up and do some laundry. I’d just bought a new bra and some panties — yay! — at Target, along with a pair of capri sweats. I’d also bought a hoodie at Southern, so I wanted to get everything all washed. As I loaded everything into the washer, my big right toe met the bottom corner of the washer and I saw stars again.

“AGH! Why am I such a klutz?” I howled as I hopped into the kitchen. Because running away from the inanimate object that beats you up always helps, right?

Once the laundry was tumbling, I put on Incubus’s new greatest hits collection and started to work through the piles of sticky notes, documents, folders, and some new office supplies that I’d been neglecting for the last week. I sat on the couch putting things into folders and using my (swoon) new Sharpie pen to label things. I reached for the little wastebasket to my left — and fell off the couch.

As I lay crumpled on the floor, I started to fear for my life. What if my body was secretly possessed and wanted to kill me?

Later on as I watched Rachel Getting Married and then Blackout with my mom and Lauren, I noticed that (of course) my neck, arm, and leg muscles hurt.

“I don’t know what the hell I did to myself,” I told mom and Lauren.

An hour later: “Oh yeah. I fell off the couch.”

Are you a hazard to yourself? Share some of your finer moments in the comments. Clumsy people unite!

Mike had to house sit for his dad this weekend, and invited me to stay over with him so I could get some extra rest. It was really nice, because we got some alone time — although I probably spent more time sleeping — and it was sort of like a practice run for when we move in together. I’m always amazed at how neatly we fit together, with everything we do. I mean, we do have our moments and we have our differences of course, but for the most part it’s like we were made for each other. I’m seeing this more and more.

Saturday night we watched the playoffs game. I felt a little better and was looking forward to spending some actual awake time with him. We lost 24-17 to the Chargers and as soon as the game was over he downed some NyQuil and went to bed. (Yes, it was that serious.) I was kind of annoyed at first but I remembered how well he put up with me feeling yucky the night before and kept my mouth shut. (See how that works?)

The next morning we kind of lounged around. We went back to sleep after waking up and then went out to run some errands. After our Target run we stopped at Arby’s so he could get something to eat.

I waited for his food while he got his soda. As he pushed the lever for the Dr. Pepper, the Sprite and whatever was on the right of the Dr. Pepper came out. I couldn’t help but laugh, because it was something that would normally happen to me. I got him napkins, and after some trial and error he got his Dr. Pepper.

We sat down and he took a sip of his coffee. A few big drops spattered his face. I giggled again and handed him another napkin. “You’re stealing my thunder,” I said, pretending to pout.

After a few more errands we headed back to his house. I jumped on Twitter and started a live broadcast about Katy. Halfway through, I heard Mike yell my name. I stumbled into the bathroom to find him holding his hand under gushing water.

“What’s up?”

“Get me, get me–”

I blinked and suddenly each droplet of blood came into focus. His pants were splattered. The washcloth he had on his hand was soaked with crimson. Blood was all over the floor and was dripping into the sink. “What happened? What’d you do? What do you need?” I started digging through the linen closet, trying to find a clean washcloth. He showed me his hand, and on his thumb was a neat inch long cut.

“I cut myself with the knife,” he said.

“Doing what?” I couldn’t see him being, well, like me. I’m usually the one who does stupid shit like that.

“I was trying to get my brush open.” He had bought a new brush at Target, and it was tied to the cardboard packaging with zip ties.

About a half hour or so later, he was still bleeding and rapidly soaking the second washcloth. “You need stitches,” I said, examining the cut. It was only about an inch long, but it was wide open. You could see the blood gushing out and the guts. Tracy sat with us and the three of us looked at his options. I didn’t feel too good about him not going to the hospital. It clearly wasn’t going to stop bleeding anytime soon, and I didn’t think a butterfly would work.

I finally convinced him to go to the ER. By the time we stopped at the store for cigarettes and Gatorade, it was about six or so and he was still bleeding. He wouldn’t let me drive, and I kept thinking he was going to pass out and drive us into a rail and over a cliff. (I didn’t tell you my imagination is overactive?) We got to the hospital at 6:16 — I remember because he had to write down the time when he signed in — and didn’t get in to actually get stitched up until around 8:30. By the time we left it was almost ten. He got three stitches. We stopped at CVS for gauze and then went to McDonald’s for something to eat. (While we were waiting for paperwork, I started getting sick because the only thing I’d eaten all day was a bagel. I so should stop yelling at Sarcastica to eat if I’m not going to.)

We stopped by his dad’s so Mike could drop off the house key and then he dropped me off. I was kind of worried that he might cut his hand off this time without me around, but I talked to him earlier tonight and he is alive and well.

Meanwhile, I feel craptastic. I probably have an ear infection or maybe an infection in my throat. Blegh. I also bought the Covergirl Bare Minerals knockoff when we went to Target and it so isn’t the same. Too bad I can’t afford Bare Minerals. I think it’s like $50. Oh well. At least the Covergirl works a little.

• Her equilibrium will most likely be more off than usual. Be prepared to catch her when she falls or when she sways to the left or right. Leave extra lights on just in case she has to make a midnight trip to the bathroom, and keep a flashlight on hand for emergencies.
• Be her personal heater or air conditioner. She’s probably going to take the blankets off and put them right back on more than you can count, so be sure to keep her extra tucked in when she’s cold and allow her easy escape for when she gets hot.
• If your gal is using NyQuil, refrain from keeping her awake. She will most likely babble and then fall over drunk when she tries to get up. When you catch her, tuck her right back in and stop any attempts she makes at getting up again.
• When she tries to steal the blanket from you in her sleep — even if she already has her own — let her. She’ll probably be hot again in a minute, anyway.
• In the morning, when she tells you she feels unsexy, don’t lie to her. Instead, tell her how unsexy you feel.
• Don’t sweat it when she doesn’t thank you for taking her out to breakfast. She’s too out of it to remember her manners.

Last night I went into the living room, where everyone had just finished eating, to get some CDs to take downstairs to listen to while I wrote. I snapped the light on and looked down at my feet to see the CD I’d been looking for earlier and bent down for it. As I bent down I collided with a nearby TV tray, resulting in a nice gouge in my ass. I could immediately feel the blood seeping through my sweats (luckily I wore the red ones instead of jeans).

“Are you okay?” My grandmother asked.

“No, it’s bleeding through,” I said, continuing to dig through CDs. I grabbed the last one I needed and then headed for the bathroom.

“Need help?” My mom asked.

“I think so.”

Sure enough, there was a nice little gouge and a bubble of blood on my left cheek.

“Wow, you’re bleeding,” Mom said.

“I wasn’t kidding!”

She helped me bandage up and I said I looked like a Carebear.

“Yes,” she said. “Tender Butt Bear.”

Only I could do something like this.

Whenever you do something stupid, you always get caught. Or at least I do.

I got lucky this morning. I pulled into the parking lot at work and it was nearly empty. There is a chain link fence that surrounds the lot. When I pulled into a space, I accidentally bumped the pole. I thought China heard the seemingly loud clang it made. None of the passersby, off-duty fireman or cars stopped at the light even glanced in my direction. (I swear, everything sounds louder in the morning.)

I didn’t get so lucky this afternoon. I pressed the button for the WALK signal and when I got the little lit-up white guy flash in front of me, I started to cross the street. As I came to the halfway point I heard sirens blaring. I could see an ambulance speeding up the street. Fleetingly, I wondered what would happen if the ambulance needed to go through where I was walking. Would they run me down? (Yes, I have an overactive imagination.) A half-second after I thought this, the ambulance paused and waited for me to finish crossing before heading straight through where I just walked. I swear, everyone was staring at me, giving me the stink eye for being in the ambulance’s way. I climbed into my car, hoping that whomever needed the ambulance hadn’t died while the ambulance waited for me to cross the street.

Yeah. Toldja I’m neurotic.

Okay, so I know I promised to do an I am.. post soon — and I do want to do one, specifically about how impulsive I am — but there are about a zillion things zipping through my head right now. So.

Breaking Dawn is freaking awesome so far. The more I read, the more Stephenie Meyer is becoming one of my favorite authors — possibly an all-time favorite. (I should probably read Host before I say that, but whatever.) Wherever she ends up on my list of favs, I hope she never stops writing. She truly is gifted. That being said, I really want to start concentrating on some writing. I have a zillion projects I want to start and a zillion projects I need to finish. I wish there was some way I could discipline myself a little more. It’s just hard to ignore the new ideas until I finish the old. (See? Toldja I was impulsive.) I’m hoping that taking that creative writing course this semester may help me balance a little better. Obviously I (probably) can’t use old work for the assignments, so I can (probably) humor my new ideas in class and work on finishing the older stuff in my free time. Hopefully. I really need to rethink my time management skills. Makes me wonder how teachers could have ever put that “uses time well” comment on any of my report cards.

Speaking of time management, I need to finish the websites I’ve been working on. I need to get my business site looking a little more professional, and lettersoflove.net needs to be finished like, yesterday, so that I can add it to lists. I’ll probably feel less guilty about pursuing side projects, and with my business’s website finished I can probably get some actual work. (My trip to Indianapolis is so not gonna pay for itself.)

Back to Breaking Dawn. I’ve been having really vivid dreams lately. I dreamed last night that I was Bella and Mike was Edward. Heh. I was even dressed in clothes I wouldn’t normally wear. It was cool being a vampire. The dream was just getting good and then I woke up — for the zillionth time. I slept really poorly last night. I’m not sure why. At about 4, 4:30 this morning the garbage truck came by. When the hell did those things get so loud? It sounded like the most annoying ringtone ever going off. I see no reason for them to be so loud, especially when they’re collecting garbage at the ass-crack of dawn. I would love to shoot the moron who designed the newer garbage trucks, for his total ignorance.

Where the hell was I going with this post? Yikes. I don’t know if it’s the lack of sleep, but I totally can’t function today.

Oh. Yeah. I accidentally dropped my phone into a cup of water last night. Heh. My eyes bugged out and I said, “oh, oh” over and over. My aunt Rikki ran over and dropped the phone into a brown paper bag, sent me upstairs to blowdry it out, and the phone works fine now. She’s a genius. I swear.

Sorry this post is so all over the damn place. When I composed today’s post in my head last night — hoping that it might help me fall back asleep — it sounded a lot more together than this. I promise something rational later!