A writer getting a paper cut is like a field-goal kicker pulling a hamstring.
OK, maybe that’s an exaggeration. But it does hurt.
I’ve been on injured reserve for the past week. A few days into the new year, I opened a letter that arrived on my desk at work (I never use letter openers) and reached inside. My left index finger was among those on the front line and took a bullet for the entire team.
The tip of my finger was ripped open by the sharp edge of a pledge card, and I bled like a stuck pig. Imagine that. They wanted me to contribute money … not to mention a pint of blood.
It throbbed for two hours. It hurt for two days. I wore a sympathy bandage for a while, then was relegated to a band-aid from Walgreen’s.
Every time I typed, the entire upper left side of the keyboard followed my wounded finger. The “r” and “t” were joined at the hip … er, tip.
Anyway, everything is getting back to normal. I appreciate all the get-well cards.