I haven’t been able to post anything of real substance this week due to my horrific thumb injury suffered at the hands of a watermelon knife on Memorial Day.
I will remember it, trust me.
I do not type with my thumb but it happens to be connected directly to the one typing finger that I do use on that particular left-hand.
The impact on the keys of my laptop by my typing/booger finger sends shockwaves into my nearly amputated thumb causing the infection coursing thru my veins to act as gasoline on a fire.
It is hard to type while weeping.
I have found out one thing though which may be useful, in a good way, for future reference.
When I touch, bump or squeeze my injured thumb, I pee my pants and have a slight poopy reflex.
Enough about my poor thumb….
I am sitting in the state of Washington this morning, close to Snoqualmie Pass.
The mist is hanging low over the mountains and the air is crisp and cool.
It’s eerily quiet for a truck stop.
None of the refrigerated trailers are running because the outside temperature is perfect for a morning.
I am waiting for the sun.
Okay, back to my thumb…
It hates being ignored.
I’ve been getting a lot of grief from some of my Facebook peeps about my injury and the documentation of my thumbs progress thereof:
My manhood has been questioned and my ability to overcome the traumatic event.
I have been called a drama queen.
I have been called a pansy.
None of them know my pain.
I know for a fact that I have all the symptoms of Fibromyalgia of the thumb.
Okay, that’s enough…
I will now attempt to ignore my thumb.
I wish I was better with words.
I wish that I had paid more attention in school.
I wish that I could expound upon any subject with insight and creativity.
But whenever I try to write something concerning world events, like politics, I just don’t have the educational background to make any type of informed opinion, much less interest anyone about said opinions other than myself.
Instead, I prefer humor.
I often write some things about my past, the alcoholism, my kids, suicide and the prevention thereof, homelessness…you know….. Sad stuff.
You know what?
I have to make myself depressed to write about these things.
I have to force myself to drag up those old memories.
I have to scratch in order to bleed.
I don’t want to bleed anymore.
Way too much time has been lost in regret.
I am a different man now.
I have just realized that I am an enabler….
Oh, quick note, don’t walk up to a pharmacy counter and say “I need some dope!”
They tend to scrutinize your I.D and insurance a lot more closely.
I have, up to this date, had 8 shots due to my horrific injury.
7 in da butt, and 1 in the shoulder.
I forgot about the band-aids on my tooshie until I took a shower this morning.
I turned around in front of the mirror to examine my back half and saw the 7 band-aids still stuck on my Gluteus Maximus.
I believe band-aids begin to absorb into your body after 2 days because peeling them off with only one available hand and thumb that works is quite…..difficult.
You know what that nurse told me…?
He said that one of my shots had to go into the bone!
I guess when he saw my face go pale he decided that his joke didn’t go over as well as he had hoped.
Joke…..about a bone injection?
Who does that?
Girl nurses don’t do crap like that!
You ESPECIALLY don’t do that kind of thing to a poor trucker that suffers from Narcissistic Paranoid Hypochondria…..!
I just took my antibiotic for this morning.
It’s called Keflex.
I can’t take penicillin because it has the side effect of death.
I can’t take codeine because of the side effect of torrential bodily evacuations with extreme prejudice without consideration of my GPS position.
It always happens when there are no ‘facilities’ for miles.
Do you have any idea how hard it is to stop an 80,000 lb vehicle traveling at 65 mph while gritting your teeth and trying to maintain muscle control?
Lots of screeching tires, burning rubber smoke, scattering chickens and the occasional flying mailbox.
It is time to ‘go’, why are you fighting us?
We must push harder….
We’re only trying to do our job.
Don’t do it…. (Get it?)
Okay, I’ve bored y’all long enough.
I think the Keflex is doing its job.
The gaping wound on my thumb has closed and is only dark pink and blue.
I might just make it.