Monday, 22 October 2012

A Slice of Life

--- CAUTION: The following post contains images that sensitive viewers may find distressing. If you suffer for looking, it's on your own head. ---

So I was told that I needed to blog again (Hello Martin!). I know that it's been a while but to be honest I haven't had much to say, other than depressing I-have-issues topics. I've considered writing every so often over the past month or so but due to my recent apathy for almost everything, it's felt like too much effort. Plus, nothing much has happened.

BUT NOW! Ha. Something has happened. It's a little thing, and not very noteworthy, but it comes with pictures! "What is this you speak of?", I hear you ask. Well....


Yes that's right, I've sliced myself. Again. And I was doing so well! It's been almost two years since I have maimed myself in the kitchen with sharp implements. Mainly knives. Although I think kitchen scissors have come to the party once before... But I digress. This beauty is from last night, and what you see above is my also my first proper view of it.

So here's what happened: the knife slipped while I was attempting to remove a rather slippery pip from an avo (that's avocado to you fancy people). Now I was obviously not thinking things through, because what idiot holds the avo during this process in such a manner as to enable significant damage to one's phalanges? Oh right. Me. I have performed this task enumerable times before, without incident. Last night was a blip. Then again, I did walk into the fridge door a few minutes later. Perhaps my brain had taken the day off.

So yes. Knife in avo pip. Knife slips and slices through flesh. Kenda gives a brief shriek, more from surprise than pain, and immediately dashes to kitchen sink and runs cold water over said injury. Still hadn't felt much pain by this stage. Plus I was on my haunches in front of the sink with my hand held way above my head. I also hadn't inspected it. That may have something to do with it. The brain is a powerful thing - not having an explicit picture in my mind of what it looked like may have helped me not think of the fact that it probably hurt and shouldn't I be feeling something? End result: my mother patched me up, not before exclaiming of the depth of the cut (I will take her word for it) and looking a little queasy for a moment.

So here I am, sitting at the office the next day and cursing quietly as I remove the plaster to put a fresh one on. I don't think I've ever removed a plaster with more care or lack of speed. It doesn't hurt, provided I don't touch it, attempt to move the finger in any way, pick up with my left hand anything heavier than an empty mug, or brush against anything, even if it's barely a hairsbreadth of contact. Needless to say driving was interesting. Squeaking every time my finger brushed against my indicator stick; having to use my right hand to pull up the handbrake when parking (yes even that causes me to fear blood spurting from my gash).

Off to Saldanha for a week's workshop so gotta remember to pack those plasters. Also, as an aside, you look ridiculous with your hand held above your head while performing menial tasks such as eating, talking to people, and watching TV. Yes, you.

Oh, and apologies for not having a 'sensitive viewers' disclaimer. Wait, let me put one in now....


...Ok, now what I just said is redundant but I'll keep it in anyway. I hope no-one has fainted or regurgitated breakfast. It's the most important meal of the day you know.

Right. That's that. Cheerio for now. Hopefully it won't take me injuring myself to jot stuff down again.

1 comment:

  1. Eina! :( Also, I couldn't resist:

    I hope you've sufficiently recovered your good humor to appreciate that :)