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Jan. 12th, 2004
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Jan. 12th, 2004 01:51 pmWhen I was young, probably around the age of someone in sixth grade, I accidentially put my hand through a glass door. This resulted in a trip to the emergency room and was the proud bearer of about twelve stitches in my left middle and ring fingers. I also gained quite a bit of nerve damage, because the gashes in my fingers were quite deep and like the retard I am, did not do any of the exercises that the doctors told me to do to build my hand's dexterity back up. To this day, I don't have much actual feeling in those two fingers due to the cuts themselves (though cutting myself with my altar knife the other day did indeed hurt like a sonofabitch because it was so deep).
My left hand used to be my dominant one, though I could write easily with both hands before that accident. Even now, my left is still the one I first reach for things with, carry things with, smoke with, etc. For years after the incident, I had problems with it just relaxing on its own. I'd be going about my business and suddenly, it would just go limp. And anything I was doing with that hand would go all pear shaped. We lost a lot of dishes in my household during that time period, before I figured out that it was probably for the best that I hold with my right hand and wash with my left.
It hasn't relaxed on its own in ages, though I probably wouldn't even notice any way as I've gotten myself trained to the point where I'll almost always carry things in my right.
Except for today, it would seem.
I was in the kitchen with a plate of toast in my right hand and my favourite glass in the other (It's got Sailor Jerry flash art on it of a girl and crossbones with the word 'poison' underneath). Walking from the counter with the intention of heading back to my computer desk, my left hand decided to do its relaxing act.
I dropped the plate of toast in an effort to catch my glass (which amazingly, I did), but not before the majority of the contents of it spilled all over our white tile floor. Fruit punch, lots of ice. Some of which landed in the cats' water dish, staining it a rather unattractive shade of watery pink. The rest of it splashed all over the floor and for about five seconds, I stared at it dumbly.
That looks like blood.
No paper towels in the apartment right now, so I had to break out the mop.
My left hand used to be my dominant one, though I could write easily with both hands before that accident. Even now, my left is still the one I first reach for things with, carry things with, smoke with, etc. For years after the incident, I had problems with it just relaxing on its own. I'd be going about my business and suddenly, it would just go limp. And anything I was doing with that hand would go all pear shaped. We lost a lot of dishes in my household during that time period, before I figured out that it was probably for the best that I hold with my right hand and wash with my left.
It hasn't relaxed on its own in ages, though I probably wouldn't even notice any way as I've gotten myself trained to the point where I'll almost always carry things in my right.
Except for today, it would seem.
I was in the kitchen with a plate of toast in my right hand and my favourite glass in the other (It's got Sailor Jerry flash art on it of a girl and crossbones with the word 'poison' underneath). Walking from the counter with the intention of heading back to my computer desk, my left hand decided to do its relaxing act.
I dropped the plate of toast in an effort to catch my glass (which amazingly, I did), but not before the majority of the contents of it spilled all over our white tile floor. Fruit punch, lots of ice. Some of which landed in the cats' water dish, staining it a rather unattractive shade of watery pink. The rest of it splashed all over the floor and for about five seconds, I stared at it dumbly.
That looks like blood.
No paper towels in the apartment right now, so I had to break out the mop.
