Thursday, December 19, 2013
I currently have a band-aid on each thumb as I type this blog entry.
I consider myself a careful person, really... and I wouldn't call myself clumsy per se...
But I'll let you kids decide for yourselves.
I started young with the accidentally-hurting-myself-in-stupid-ass-ways thing.
My mother still feels guilty about an incident where I fell out of the shopping cart.
Those things are, like, designed to avoid this.
I still don't understand how I managed such a feat without breaking my legs in order to get out...
But I clearly remember the milk isle zooming in toward my face:
Obviously, I survived. I probably lost a tooth though.
I can say that, because I was generally losing teeth during these incidents.
Considering all the oral surgery I wound up having as an adult later, it was probably for the best that I just get the baby teeth out of the way fast anyway.
I was walking along with a straw in a drink and a loose tooth to play with (do you see where this is going?) and not ONLY did I stick my loose tooth INTO the straw for fun, but then I tripped.
This resulted in RIPPING THE TOOTH OUT OF MY FACE while also smashing the rest of me to the ground.
Very efficient, really.
Doorknobs often had a similar effect. See, I was "doorknob height" and wasn't always aware of my surroundings.
I blame inner ear issues.
Lost at least one that way.
By now, you've heard tales of how often I cut my hands open while carving pumpkins, or stabbing myself in the thumbs while sewing (often straight through the nail)...
But one time, I actually learned a lesson during a sewing mishap.
You know what? I'm not gonna illustrate this one because it still ickles me.
I tend to stick sewing needles pretty much wherever I can, with the (often very, very wrong) assumption that it will assist in my not losing them.
So, I'm sitting on my parent's couch, sewing stuff.
Probably making one of these:
And I put the needle in the couch next to me, just slightly, thinking I'll be able to pull it out by the thread later.
Then I couldn't find it.
Cue a few days later where I'm on the same couch, trying to get something that has fallen behind said couch, getting up to sit on my knees... on the couch.
Our needle friend is promptly found.
It goes up into my thigh.
Let me clarify...
It's not like, poking from the side into my thigh. It's going from the top of my knee UP into my thigh-meats, along the thigh itself.
Oh my fuck.
There are no words to describe the combined horror, shame, pain, disgust and so on that I experienced in this moment.
Did I mention I've managed to STAB myself?
Some were small, like the x-acto knife at art school.
We were snowed in, so there was a moment of, "Whelp, glad I didn't cut off my thumb. Wouldn't have been able to get to a hospital in time to save it. Whoops."
Instead, I merely jammed it into the tip of my thumb.
There's a vein at the base of my palm that had flipped out during this process.
This happened a decade ago and it still puffs up if I'm stressed.
Probably a terrible sign.
Still, not as bad as the time I stabbed myself in the shoulder while working retail.
See, I was diligently cutting apart and collapsing boxes for storing them in the back.
"The back" was basically a hallway with shelves of walls filled with random crap to sell.
Knowing we were the only two in the store, and knowing I had gone back there, I guess my work-buddy forgot.
She didn't see me sitting in this hallway cutting boxes with the box cutter.
She walked into me, kicking the box away.
This was fine except:
I remember thinking, "Oh, that didn't happen. I'm just holding the box cutter slightly PAST my shoulder. Here, I'll pull it awa- ... Oh crud."
My coworker wanted to rush me to a hospital, but, being me...
I just wanted to keep on workin'.
I still have a scar from it, but obviously I was fine.
Well, obviously I'm fine NOW in any case.