off piste 31/1
After the “fire” of yesterday’s post, I was supposed to be writing about the things I had to leave behind, but as I live on a boat in a minimalist kind of life style, I didn’t think there was lot of mileage in writing about pots and pans. So I’ve gone off piste.
This post needs to be read in your saddest, Eeyore voice.
I really shouldn’t have gone to work today, not sporting the war wound, the industrial injury I got yesterday. You see, carrying a set of books from one classroom to another, I got a paper cut. A huge, massive, deep cut on that finger between the middle and little finger of my right hand, that only medical types know the name of. It’s right on the ball of the finger. I should have gone home there and then, but I had a job to do. And I felt I could weather the pain. But today. Oh today, this pain of mine’s got worse. When I type, it’s excruciating. How I’ve worked through the pain barrier of holding a pen, I shall never know? But some how I soldiered on. Every time I think about this huge war wound of mine, it hurts, really hurst. It’s like a pain shooting down the diodes of my right hand side.
Red, and sore it’s probably likely to get horribly infected. It might go gangrenous. There’s certainly going to be puss, at least half a gallon of the stuff! I can tell, and then I will be sorry. people will tut and shake their heads and say, “foolish, foolish woman to ignore a paper cut.”
I know what you’re saying, I should have taken it to A&E, there and then, but I was being brave. Doing adult, escheweing all sympathy because despite the poorly paw, the show goes on… Besides going to A&E would lead to an inevitable conclusion, amputation there and then….