My brother Judson and I were making homemade pizza for dinner tonight; he was putting sauce on the dough and I was chopping an orange bell pepper. I accidentally cut my left thumb and immediately ran to the sink, thinking that it was a small cut when in actuality it was deep and half the circumference of my thumb and gushing blood all over the dirty dishes. Judson put some ice in a washcloth so that I could numb it and put pressure on it at the same time, and he drove me to the urgent care in Battle Ground, which is about twenty minutes away from the house. I was trying to stay in good spirits and tell jokes to make Judson laugh and be grateful that I didn’t cut my thumb completely off or even part-way off. It reminded me of a time when I was in high school when my mom cut her thumb with a pair of garden shears that cut all the way through her thumbnail, and when I came home from school, she was just lying at the top of the stairs with her feet up against the wall and a towel pressed against her hand. She had been that way for at least an hour, and had just been waiting patiently for me to get home so that I could drive her to the hospital. It made me think how glad and lucky I was that Judson was at the house with me, and not out with one of his friends or something. I told Judson this, to which he replied “Yay favorable circumstances!”
We got to the urgent care and it was a pretty quick fix. The doctor told me they could either glue it or stitch it up, because apparently the army invented a type of glue to seal people’s wounds that didn’t irritate the skin or cause any kind of bodily harm, so that they could get right back out on the battlefield. It was a horrifying thing to listen to, but I had no battlefield to go back to and no desire to have needles stuck in me if I could avoid it, so I opted for the glue. What a crazy concept! They patched up the wound and put a splint over it and wrapped it thick with green tape. I now look like a gardening enthusiast with my green thumb.
And this whole episode happened after showing up to a job interview to find that it was actually a group interview, which I despise and probably wouldn’t have gone to if I had known in advance; finding out that I didn’t get the job at Language Fusion because the other candidate they had narrowed it down to had more experience than me; and the son of the people whose house I’m staying at showing up unexpectedly to get something out of the garage and raid the refrigerator for Coca-Cola, and mistaking Judson for my boyfriend. And yet, despite all of this, I somehow feel like life is still okay and that good things will find me sooner or later. I have to laugh sometimes to keep from crying, and laughing really does help me keep my chin up instead of just seeing my circumstances as a massive failure that can’t be remedied. That said, I’m going to make a hilarious tale out of this knife mishap that will make people laugh heartily at my jackassery every time I tell it. Which will make the whole thing, this whole day, not seem so terrible.