Last night, while cutting potatoes into tiny pieces for a delicious meal of fried/microwaved potatoes and onions (for the third night in a row; yes, I'm pathetic), I managed to slice my finger open. This is not the first time I've managed to prove myself a complete klutz, but this cut was slightly more significant than past experiences. Nothing to freak out about, and definitely not stitches-worthy, but it was bleeding pretty good. I don't really have many band-aids, plus, it was bleeding pretty significantly, so I got a Kleenex from the bathroom and used a hair tie to secure it to my left index finger (that's resourcefulness, let me tell ya). I then finished cutting my potatoes, cooked them (a genius combination of frying them for a while, getting impatient, and microwaving them the rest of the way to tender), and ate them. Delicious. I then decided to go try to find a real band-aid from my "medicine drawer" (in one of the lamest twists of fate ever, my apartment doesn't have a medicine cabinet). I found one. Success.
Problem is, I'm sorta weird with band-aids. I find myself uncontrollably curious about how the wound is doing, and so band-aids never last long with me. About 10 hours later, when I was going to bed (yeah, yeah, it was like 4 am, and yes, I'm ridiculous) I took it off. Bad plan. There's a rather large flap of skin no longer entirely attached to my finger, and so without the protection of the band-aid, I acccidently flipped it back. It hurt slightly. I pushed the skin back into place.
Today I managed to do the same thing twice more. Each time this happens, it starts bleeding again (not badly, but bleeding nonetheless). I find myself ridiculously annoyed each time this happens. You would think that my finger would have been satisfied with the first bleed. But, no, of course not. It has to bleed every time that piece of skin moves.
Sometimes life is just like my slightly-injured left index finger.
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