Last night as I was prepping dinner I sliced into my left thumb. It hurt. I don't deal well with my own blood. I didn't faint, but I wanted to throw a big hissy fit and have someone take care of me.
I wanted someone to feel sorry for me.
I wanted someone to finish making my dinner. I was hungry on top of panicked...and I had to get that big old knife back out and finish chopping Brussel sprouts and cut up some pickles and mix up the hamburgers.
And then wash up all those dirty dishes.
It wasn't fun being me all alone in my apartment for the first time.
Especially after supper and all the drama was over and I realized that I wasn't able to knit on the Agave socks...could barely manage garter stitch for my Hitchhiker shawl. Crochet was out of the question. I knew needlepoint would be too.
And I had hours to kill before bedtime.
And I was all alone with no one to distract me or feel sorry for me.
It was a trying night, but I came through it.
No picture today in honor of my sliced thumb.