Et tu, Gruyere?

I took this photo in 2014. I have an
identical cut right now. 

I have a friend whose husband doesn't understand why she has little cuts all over her hands all the time. It wasn't until she was telling me about this marital debate that I realized that it isn't normal to repeatedly ram your knuckles into the edge of the cabinet when reaching for a bowl. Or shave off knuckle skin each time one takes laundry from the washer.

Why, after 38 years, do I still not know where my knuckles are? They haven't moved. They're right there where they've always been.

A little wrinklier.

A little vein-ier... but not in some foreign location.

One time I cut my finger on the cheese drawer in my refrigerator. Of all the kitchen appliances to betray me. The fucking cheese drawer? I can see the dishwasher having it out for me. I don't rinse my dishes. I don't load it properly. I almost never clean that filter thingy. But the cheese drawer I treat with reverence.


When I was in High School I cut my hand trying to cut open a frozen tube of ground beef. People who know me will be surprised that I am the protagonist in a sentence containing the words "ground beef". Anyway, the knife slipped and I stabbed myself.

My dad was taking a nap in the other room and I went to tell him. "Dad, I cut myself."

Him: "Ok."

Me: "No, like really." I got 2 stitches. Possibly the ER was an overreaction.

A few years ago I cut myself cutting a bagel. (It's possible I've told this story before). It was the night before some food-based holiday (Thanksgiving? Easter? I don't remember.) I called an urgent care center because it was pretty bad.

"I cut myself and I'm not sure if I should come in."

D-bag who answers the phone for urgent care: "How am I supposed to know how bad it is?" 

Me: "I'm just wondering if there are some guidelines? Like, it bleeds for more than 5 minutes or it's a certain depth."

D-bag: "Yeah. I can't see it so, so there's no way for me to know."

Me: "Right. I'm not asking you to be clairvoyant. I just want to know if there are any guidelines for when you recommend people come in. It's not terrible, but it's still bleeding. It seems pretty deep, but I still have movement in my finger so it's not like I severed anything important." 

D-bag: "I can't see it to know how bad it is. I don't know what to tell you?"

Me: "Is there possibly someone helpful I can talk to who isn't rude and sarcastic?"

D-bag: "I'm being helpful, but I really can't tell how bad it is."

Me: "No. You've been incredibly sarcastic. I'm sure you get a lot of dummies like me calling in before <insert holiday>, but I'm a new dummy and you've been incredibly unhelpful. I'll just wait and see if I bleed to death." 

And I hung up.

But didn't die.   But I did have some numbness in that finger for about 2 years. Not kidding.

When I was younger I wanted to write a novel based on scars. Like the stories behind them. I thought I could develop real characters and stories behind the scars that people would want to read. The scar on my knee from my sister's first day of kindergarten when I tripped in the gravel and a rock got stuck in my knee. I just pulled it out. Cuz I used to be the boss of shit. (Anyway, I haven't written that novel yet. Don't steal my idea. Or if you do, give me credit for it.)

Now I cut myself on the cheese drawer.

And the cat. I was trying to take a video of how protective Mr Darcy is of my clean socks, but I taunted him too much and he made me bleed. Bad. That one was my fault. I edited it with a video of him torturing a cicada to show that he's a tough motherfucker. Except he hides when there's thunder and doesn't like when I clap loudly.

(Parental Advisory: For music lyrics and violence against insects and myself... seriously lots of cuss words.)

The post has no point except that I have about 15 posts drafted and they're all kind of melancholy and I don't want you to think I don't know how to enjoy life anymore.