How it all began: Call me crazy as much as you like — I hate tearing into the Jell-o pudding packs. You know, the cardboard that’s glued together and houses six cups of pudding goodness and is also some of the dumbest packaging ever*. It’s part compulsiveness, part…more compulsiveness, but if I tear into them then suddenly there is no reason for the packaging to even be there.
Whatever, guys, you have your weird stuff too.
Another little factoid you should know: I had this enormous fear of knives when I was a kid, and I haven’t totally grown out of it, so as I was washing our serrated bread knife last night, bare handed, I had this brief moment of utter panic over the thought of slicing my entire arm off. It didn’t happen, by the way.
Anyhow, as I was prepping lunches last night before bed, I had a little wrestling match with the Jell-o pack. It happens sometimes — they stick three of those things inside the cardboard that’s glued together and then you can’t get the middle one out no matter how hard you try. By the way, I totally got it out. But the entire time I was fiddling around, I kept thinking, “Wow this is really hurting my fingers something fierce.” I turned to make the sandwiches and that’s when I saw the blood.
That’s an exaggeration, actually. But I did slice and dice my finger pretty well, I’m assuming on the plastic cups. And I got blood on Husband’s yogurt container (don’t worry — I wiped it off. Otherwise people would have thought he murdered me and then decided to follow it up with a blueberry yogurt. Or something.)
Little did she know these two little cuts would set into action a series of unfortunate events.
A quote from my favorite movie: “I’ve written papers on ‘Little did he know.’ I’ve taught classes on ‘Little did he know.’ I once gave an entire seminar based upon ‘Little did he know.'” – Stranger than Fiction
The Low Point
I decided last night, after the whole Wal-dryl incident leading to an entire day of drowsy haze, to go to bed somewhere between 9:30 and 10:00, with Husband. This was a bad decision, as it always is, and I should have realized beforehand. But I had such high hopes of getting a full night’s rest. If I go to bed around 1:00 am, then I will fall into a REM sleep that challenges only coma patients. But if I go to bed at a regular hour, my body treats it like a nap. A nap.
And so, around 3:00 am, I woke up. There are, I believe, three factors additional that made this occur — first, my body wishing for a sleep aid (seriously, this is why I abstain from things like Benadryl. Immediate dependency.); second, my being unbearably hot under the covers but then unbearably cool outside of them (and not even sticking one leg out sufficed this time); third, my two bandages being wrapped around my ring finger so tightly it was throbbing. Upon waking up, I decided to remove them, thinking that would make the pain better. False. Those two bandages were actually protecting my finger from the peril of things like air and supersoft bedding. [Immediate update: after about 15 minutes, this was no longer true, but since I had oodles of time to lay in bed and think, I basically wrote this blog post. In my head. No big deal.]
I’d like to say I managed to get right back to sleep, but that’s not actually the case. Rather, I laid in bed, alternatingly hot and then cold, until Husband’s alarm went off at 5:00. I do not like to get out of bed when it is still dark outside.
The one, brief upside: I got to watch Husband shuffle around the kitchen adorably in his underwear and socks with his eyes basically closed the entire time. It was kind of a phenomenon how well he got around without running into stuff.
*Seriously, don’t even get me started on bacon packaging. I mean, I never cook an entire package at one time, which then means I have to wrap the whole thing in plastic wrap so as to avoid bacon juice going everywhere in the refrigerator.