I'm sorry. If you promise to heal nicely, the next time I am collapsing a collapsible ladder, I promise not to expose you to imminent destruction by placing you on one of the rungs instead of on the side of the ladder where hands should be placed due to its much safer location. I've learned my lesson well.
The Current Owner of Sausage Hand
So now that you know what I did in my grand intelligence, I shall show you a picture of the aftermath. Nothing can really compete with my neck wound pictures so perhaps the picture of my maimed limb is a bit anti-climatic, after all there wasn't even any real bruising (I am still lamenting that small oversight, which, after some conversation, my hand knows very well and has since promised me that it will be sure to bruise most grotesquely in the event of any other future mishaps). So, to give you a better idea of the desctruction I caused, I took the liberty of dressing up my hand for its portrait with a ring that would under normal circumstances slip right on and off my finger (this will hopefully portray to the masses who are not well-acquainted with my normal state of being that my swollen limb is just that, swollen, and not, as the untrained eye might suspect, merely fat).
Aside from the swelling, the only other major damage you can really see is the small speck of red on my middle finger. I assure you though, that small speck did bleed. Not enough for me to have to get a tissue, but I did see the tell-tale glisten of freshly spilt blood peek through the sliced epidermis. (PS. I just noticed my ring is on backwards. For those of you who know what that means, it was a mistake and not an announcement. For those of you who don't know what that means, you should really look up claddagh rings.)
A few things I've learned while I've been without my three middle fingers for the past few days.
1. Thumbs are amazing. Two thumbs up for thumbs (which I can totally still do)!
2. Washing your hair without two hands, while doable, takes far too much time.
3. Opening your child-proof thyroid medication bottle without being able to grip with one hand and twist with the other, also doable -- though I am sure somewhat amusing to any passing spectators.
4. Putting the lid back on the child-proof thryoid medication bottle -- so not worth the time or energy. Please note parents, my bottle is still currently open so don't let your children run amok in my bedroom.
5. Frosting gravestones. Quick shout out to my roommates who took pity on me and made it possible for me to show up to work on Friday with my graveyard of cupcakes.
6. And finally, typing a blog post with essentially one hand takes probably just about the amount of time you are thinking -- that is if you are thinking "a long time." Course I suppose if I had not let myself wax so verbose than I probably would have been finished awhile ago. But let's be honest, my long-winded randomness is my charm. And I can't let three measly wounded fingers strip me of my charm. So take that fingers! (Yes, I am well aware of my the slightly psychotic masochism. I blame it on my meds.)