At the gym, reaching absently into my shaving kit to pull out my padlock; felt my right index finger come in contact with the naked blades of my razor. Snatched my hand back like I was touching a live coal, but not before it drew blood. Not a deep slice, but irritating. And as I’m still not fully healed from my kitchen accident a couple weeks ago—in fact my arm just stopped hurting where I got a tetanus shot—I’m getting mightily pissed of injuries to my typey-fingers.
That’s meant to be my best Billy Idol sneer, by the bye. I’m terribly out of practice, I’m afraid; after all, junior year was a long time ago.
No comments:
Post a Comment