Can it possibly be Friday yet again? Didn’t we just have one like seven days ago or something? What, is this going to become like a weekly thing or something? Am I really going to have to endure a Friday every week before I can sleep in on Saturday? What kind of bullshit is that? I demand a recount…wait. I live in Florida. A recount is bad idea. We may get stuck with Bush again or something.
So today’s edition of “Its Friday” is going to be a tad bit different than my usual standard “Friday hates me” rant I usually do. No such luck for you today because today I have a story to tell: a story of pain, gore, and stupidity, but also a tale of friendship. Not your standard fare… or is it “fair?” I have never seen it written down now that I think of it. Either way, this is something new for a Friday here at the Lemming House.
Last night I was home alone. That is a stupid way to start come to think of it. I mean I live alone so of course I was home alone last night. Scratch this paragraph and move on to the next one for the real beginning.
Last night I did one of the more stupid things I have ever done in my life. G-d was tuned in and laughing His ass off at the antics occurring in my abode. It was slapstick at its finest; complete with blood.
Mom Warning #1 As you read this you will understand why I don’t clean my house that often.
Ok, I had a sink full of dishes and they were begging to be cleaned, literally. I think they had formed some type of new intelligent life that was possibly a few days away from learning how to clean itself. I was bored and in the middle of cooking (AKA microwaving) dinner and had four minutes-thirty seconds to spare. Normally this time would be occupied with a cigarette, but I don’t do that any more so I took my mom’s advice of cleaning something when I wanted a smoke. Dishes were calling me after all so where better to start? I don’t need a disgruntled dishes picketing in front of my house again.
Mom Warning #1B Not really that bad.
Forks, spoons, plates, glasses, Tupperware- it all behaved while rinsed them off before settling them into the home for the next few days (AKA the dishwasher). Some of them even squeaked “Ahhhhhh” under the warm water rinse. It was a totally pleasant scene until….
Hiding just beneath the foamy layer of suds was lurking the shark of the dish sink. It was lying there waiting for a victim to show just a slight moment of weakness and, sadly, I was to be that victim. I couldn’t help it. I was in its environment after all and it is the king of the sink.
Mom Warning #2 I am alive and fine so do not panic as you read.
I brushed my finger against it the first time, but was unsure of what I had just touched. It did not feel like anything I owned. It felt smooth like a piece of paper, but much, much firmer. Not sure and curious, I brushed against it a second time with the same finger and realized what exactly I had found- my new knife: the sharp, really sharp, “never dulls,” guaranteed-for-life, stainless-steel blade of death. I am really stupid sometimes.
I do not “do” blood. Any illusion of bravery or coolness I project quickly fades when that crimson liquid begins to flow and especially if that particular fluid is flowing from my body and particularly especially if it is gushing more than flowing. G-d loves a good bloody joke I always say.
I knew my cut was deep simply because I do not screw up small. Mom said that I should do something to the best of my ability if I am going to do it at all, so when I screw up, I screw up. This was a good one too. It did not bleed, it poured.
I was panicked and near passing out. I could feel my flesh lose what little pigmentation I have and I broke out in a freezing cold sweat. I could only muster “oh Fuck” out of my mouth for a good thirty minutes as I held it in paper towels wondering what I should be doing besides bleeding everywhere. I remembered I lived alone and “the” someone who was going to have to clean up if I bled everywhere was me so I tried to contain myself to a single room and changed paper towels every few seconds.
I don’t remember when or why, but I dialed my friend’s cell phone and he heard something was wrong in my voice. I told him I cut myself.
“Is it bad?” he asked.
“I don’t know.”
“Is it deep?”
“I don’t know.”
“Have you looked at it?”
“I can’t.”
“I’ll be right there.”
Five minutes later his girlfriend called me. In my panic I could not find the phone, but her words soon carried over the answering machine in calming serenity.
“We are on our way there. Do not look at it. DO NOT LOOK AT IT! Just keep it covered. We are almost there.”
She left work and he was on his way home after a long and tiring day. They stopped off at a store and bought me peroxide (alcohol would HURT) and band-aids and came right in. He talked to me and calmed me while she looked at the wound and treated it. I could not stand up any longer. I had, in my panic, built this wound up into my finger hanging on by a thread and my mom yelling at me “I made you with ten fingers and I would appreciate you remaining that way.”
The reality of the wound is that, while a bleeder and sort of deep, it was not big and not really that bad. It is on the middle finger of my left hand, right next to the nail. It bled for about two hours steady before stopping, but has not bled since. It hurts. It pulses and pounds, but is not bleeding anymore.
I got teary last night about it all. Not from the pain or the blood or the panic, but because of my friends. I have never had friends that would literally drop everything because they knew I needed them. I was not in trouble, but they know how I am with gore and knew how I would be reacting and knew I needed them. They came over faster than they have ever come over before and completely took charge and cared about me. They even called me today to see how I was and how it was.
Am I a wimp? Unquestionably. Am I pathetic? When it comes to pain and gore, yup! Am I lucky? Oh my yes. I have real friends in real life and not just my usual “people I pass along the way.”
Happy weekend and sorry for the really, really, really long post.
