I Don't Know How I Do These Things To Myself

I really don't.

Picture, if you will, a slight woman, with physical strength that belies her appearance. Picture her at the gym, say, this morning. Picture her at the high row machine, shifting plate weights off of the machine's arms.

She holds a 45 lbs plate weight in her hands. Her left cradles the bottom of the weight, steadying it, while her right hand lifts and guides, sliding the weight off of the machine's right arm. As the weight nears the end of the arm, she slips. And the weight slips out of her right hand. And subsequently falls onto the middle section of her left ring finger, crushing it between itself and a weight held on a rack below it.

She utters a definative, yet almost silent GODDAMN!

The finger starts to throb. And swell. And the woman goes to the hospital to get it x-rayed.

The result? No break, thank god, but an equally painful and deep soft tissue injury.

Here's what my hand looks like now, injured digit taped to it's stalwart neighbour.











Let the mocking begin.