As I'm hammering nails backwards out of boards I'm having the sorts of thoughts Drea calls poison. My mind wanders into grim territory and off of the task at hand. Sure enough, my Papa's words crash upon my thumb and I get "given something that really hurts." Some blood and a purple mound; physical evidence of physical pain. Taylor and Omar so kindly wince and assure me that it will only feel worse later and Taylor promises me that the antibacterial spray that stings like a bugger won't hurt one bit.
And now I hold my thumb sticking out like it's a sore one. But already, contrary to the lot of liars who warned me that pain would travel up my arm and make my hand fall heavy, my thumb is feeling better. And I can get on quite well with my day, a day which is a particularly special day, occurring only this and every single Wednesday, a day ushered in by ridiculous song at 11 am: Lynn Day.
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