So, as I type, it’s Sunday night and I just recently burned the ever-living hell out of my hand (kitchen accident). But I have to fill up our post queue because Jess is recovering from wisdom-tooth surgery. So I am using only my left fingers — thank God I play the piano; makes this much easier — and cruising thorough these while I am waiting for my friend to get here to stay with the beans so I can go to the ER. My entire right hand feels like Satan himself is licking it, with a forked tongue studded with acid. I realize the world has way more important problems right now, but in my endeavors to bring you procrastibatort material — my left hand just really didn’t like typing “procrastinatory,” but I left the typo because it made me laugh — I am doing a terrible job a smiling through the owwwww. So just beware of my mindset.
What ruffled hellbag is this? Aptly, this reminds me of my sad fallen paw. Parts of it seem fine and functional but then SO MUCH of the rest is FLAMES OH THE FLAMES IT BURNS.
[Photo: Getty]
