So that funk I was telling you about? Yeah, it’s decided to settle in for a while.  I’m still trying to beat back the blues, keeping up with my favorite things, but I’ve hit the wall.  I really want to write, and yet, I’ve got nothing to say.  I used yo do this exercise in my journals where I would just write, “I have nothing to say. I don’t want to write. What am I talking about,” and inevitably, I would end up with pages of verses and paragraphs that I would string into poems.

I think that’s where I’m headed today.

What started as a”I don’t really have much to say” type of post has morphed into a “Let me tell what happened to me” type of post.  So, let me tell you what happened to me.  I sliced off the tip of my ring finger cleaning the tub.  Yes, if you draw blood with doing housework, it’s time to get someone else to do the housework.

Yesterday, in a fit of insanity, I decided to clean the bathtub. I was already wiping down counters, vacuuming carpets and sweeping floors like my name was Cinderella.  I was in the girls’ bathroom, scraping dried toothpaste from the sink and turned to give the tub a wipe.  Then I took a good look at the shoddy lick and a promise method I’d previously employed and decided to get serious with the Soft Scrub.

As I ran my cleaning rag around the rim of the tub, where the tile meets the tub itself, I felt a sharp stab of pain in my finger.  Then, I noticed red spots dotting the newly cleaned bathing surface.  I looked down at my hand.  Hmmm, you’re missing part of your finger there, chief. What the what? Turns out, a piece of tile close to the faucet some how cracked and separated from the wall.  In my zeal to clean, I just ran my hand around and basically scored the top of my finger off. Nice.

Still, I’m not going to let a missing fingertip slow me down. I’m not Jamie from Top Chef.  I had a lot of momentum going behind this cleaning binge and it was going to happen now or never. I grabbed a washcloth, wrapped up my finger and kept on cleaning.  The bleeding eventually subsided, but I found myself in a situation like when I sliced off the tip of my other finger using that flipping mandolin to make onion rings.  Yes, there is a lesson to be learned in all this.

I need a housekeeper.
And a chef.

Oh, and a transcriptionist (yes, that’s a real word)  to get all of these thoughts down while I tape up my finger tips.