So … as you know from my previous post, Diane isn’t home today and I was afforded another chance to drive myself to the emergency room. In order for me to legally take advantage of this brief window of opportunity I had to find a clever way to injure myself in such a manner that my honor wouldn’t be impinged.
Getting out my trusty hammer drill, I went to work on the curb I’ve been whittling at for a while in an attempt to make room to set a fence post. The first 6-7 holes were accomplished with no problem then I got cocky and locked the trigger on so I could hold the drill without squeezing it. Made things much easier, with less wear and tear, until the drill bit his a rough spot and I lost my grip. With the bit about 3 inches deep in cement, there was no way it was going to fall over. With the trigger locked on, there was also no way the drill was going to stop. Consequently, the drill quickly began spinning around the drill bit at a pretty impressive RPM, winding up the cord as it went. In an attempt to stop the rotation, I grabbed at it and wound up with my left wrist tied securely to the drill by the cord and twisted in a painful manner until I could reach the extension cord with my right hand and unplug the machine. During the unplugging effort, my right hand was also twisted and beat up so my current predicament is predictable.
My previously partially damaged opposed thumb on my right side is now mostly un-opposed to the point where manipulating a zipper or button a shirt is a challenge. And, my left wrist, though unbroken, isn’t in any kind of mood to bend any direction. Tomorrow things should start getting colorful at the points of injury. If they don’t, I’ll be very disappointed. I’m a firm believer that injuries of this nature should be punctuated with colorful bruises to commemorate the event. If they aren’t, I may be prone to seeking some colored pencils which I can use to create my own marks.
Here’s what happened to the drill …
On a little lighter side, here’s where Ozzie lounged the entire time I was eating my supper soup in my recliner. He wasn’t waiting for me to drop anything … he just wanted a front row seat in case I was handing out samples … which I did.
I have to add, here, that injuring myself wasn’t the objective of my foray into the area of manual labor this afternoon. Things like that just seem to work out for me.