Frankenfinger is all about the alternating deep ache with fast-moving clouds of itchy. I am documenting its healing process with photos, although I can’t imagine sharing these with anyone. It is not at all pretty, although the cerulean blue of the sutures is sort of neat.
I was about to promise that this would get more interesting if I stopped writing about my finger, but I can’t promise that, plus I like writing about my finger. It is a Big Deal for me in its perspective-inducing powers. Also, I will soon have a scar, which I hear will make me more interesting.
Mostly I just look at the bandage and remember how lame it was not to be paying total attention to the bread knife in my other hand. I mean, generally speaking, if you’re going to pay attention to something, it probably should be the nearest gigantic piece of serrated metal.
A sulky toddler on the bus tonight kept staring at me, so I made some crazy faces at her. She was not impressed. She even crossed her little arms and frowned disapprovingly at me. I was encouraged by this, and increased the craziness of my faces, figuring she had to laugh sometime.
As it happened, her mother was even less impressed, and very loudly told me to stop scaring her child.
O, sister. If your child is scared by the likes of me, she’s going to have a shit time of it in the world. I am laid low by 5 stitches in a finger. I couldn’t scare a hermit crab.