Have you ever felt like a jellyfish? Moving through the ocean of life – where for every two steps you take forward, you take one step backwards? Where you seemingly brown-nosing the anus of life? And then BAM, with one fell swoop, you unravel your entire string of small victories and end up damn near where you started. Let me tell ya’ll about my shit-storm of a day the other day and how the above (real) picture came to fruitition.
It was a cold January day in Georgia, and I, a second-time Mom on the ass end of maternity leave from my super hectic job, was multi-tasking many kitchen duties. Now, I have always been a bit of a procrastinator, I have realized that for some reason, I do my best work after 6pm. My husband had asked me to put the chicken we purchased the previous day in the crockpot (more on fantastic crockpot shredded chicken at another time). So I decided to make myself dinner, make crockpot chicken, cut up a head of lettuce, jam the fuck out, and carry on four conversations via text message at the same time.
As i sharpened my mid-grade walmart knife from the set, I thought to myself, “damn man…this is a sharp knife.” I chopped half of a nice, ripe white onion for my chicken and dumped it in the crockpot along with the chicken breasts and garlic and thought to myself, “hey…I should chop up that lettuce while i’m here chopping things.” And here is where my real journey for the night begins.
I smash the head of lettuce as instructed by my mother-in law and sister-in-law/best friend and pull the root part off. I chop, chop, and chop, with seemingly expert motions when the phone vibrates. My brain simultaneously tries to make another chop and reach for the phone at the same time. In one clean sweep, I successfully cut the vein leading between your pointer finger and middle finger IN HALF. IN HALF ,guys. The dark red liquid immediately spurts like that of a hose with no nozzle. I stare at it while it sprays with the beat of my heart all over the crisp light green lettuce and contaminates everything in sight with an unsettling amount of dark red discontent. With every spurt it screams “YOU HAVE MADE A HUGE MISTAKE” like I was starring in my own episode of arrested development.
In my process of deciding whether to freak out or not, I consider that my husband has the car, and decide whether it is worth it or not to call my mom, who lives next door. While I felt the decision process was made easier flailing around the kitchen like an idiot on fire and pouring blood everywhere is the best course of action until I feel faint and decide to call my mother. I never determined whether I felt faint because I lost a bit of blood, or if it was because of the crippling embarrassment I had unwittingly signed myself up for.
“Okay Mom. I need you to listen to me and NOT FREAK out, just do NOT FREAK OUT,” I say in the most convincing voice I could, “I have cut myself pretty badly, and I need you to come over and help me as soon as you possibly can.”
As I was flailing a little more and waiting for her I thought to myself, “so this ends a perfect fuckin’ evening, and a fantastically weird maternity leave.” By the time she arrives and gets my hand wrapped in a towel, there is so much blood it takes her about thirty minutes to mop it up, and I continue to freak out, hyperventilate, and cry like a little fuckin’ baby. I got three stitches at the local hospital, where despite the hoards of people spreading their public school plagues and putting their staff infections on everything they touch, they were super nice and hella fast. Fayette Piedmont had a separate section the took me off to, where the nurses and other staff got the benefit of my nervous humor, because when I hurt or get super nervous or uncomfortable, I don’t shut the fuck up and tend to tell a bunch of jokes that may or may not offend and embarrass my mother. They got me stitched up and on my way out in 50 minutes – now thats a record we should be talking about! Maybe we should also talk about how we pay $600 a month for health insurance and I still had to pay a $300 deductible, and by pay, I mean it was added to my growing bar tab of dumb-shit hospital visits. Perhaps I will cut off a limb they can keep in exchange for payment…hmmm…something to ponder on as I fall asleep tonight.
So guys, do I get an A for effort or not?
Have you ever failed this hard? If so, I would love to hear about it!