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I’m finally getting off my butt and writing some more stories. I’ve been so tired lately, and I haven’t felt like doing much of anything. I’m glad that I was productive last week and sold some paintings. I think that I’m going to try to donate some paintings or other “artistic goods” to charities for fund raisers or raffles or what have you. That would allow me my selfish “me-time” to continue my creative pursuits, but would also allow me to do something for my community at the same time. I’d like to volunteer, but it’s just a question of giving up the time that I could be spending doing something creative.
I don’t even know if places would want a donation like that. I guess I’ll have to look into it.
I promise that I will post the Halloween party pictures sooooooon! It’s a lot of work to go through all the photos, throw out the bad ones, crop and color correct the good ones, and get them all online. There’s well over 200 photos, so please be patient!
I’m coloring my hair, so I have to get up in about 15 minutes to check it and rinse out the smelly goop. Maybe I’ll see next time if Andrew can cut me a deal and color it for me. I’m pretty proficient at it, but it might be nice to have a professional do it once in a while.
Here’s a story from more recent days than the stories I’ve been telling lately — probably from about three years ago:
We were living in the rent house on Ridgelea Street by Love Field. This house was built in 1946, and nothing at all was standard size (windows for miniblinds, shower head threads, doorframes, etc.). The kitchen cabinets went all the way to the ceiling, and the top shelf was waaaaay up high so that even I, at 5 feet 11 inches, had trouble reaching it.
Anyway, I was making dinner and reached up to this tippy top shelf to get the spare blade for my food processor, and I lost my grip. The blade fell off the shelf and was headed straight for my head, and my natural reaction was to grab for it to keep it away from my face. Well, it being a BLADE and all, this didn’t turn out so well. It sliced into the fleshy pad of my left thumb, nice and deep.
I ran into the bathroom to try to stop the bleeding, and was running my thumb under the cold water faucet when I made the mistake of looking at the wound. It was deep, allright, and spouting blood everywhere. So I fainted. Luckily, my dear sweet Doc was standing next to me and caught me before I fell all the way to the floor. I came to within seconds, and he sat me down on the toilet seat lid next to the sink, and had me hold my hand over the sink but NOT LOOK, so he could try to bandage it up or determine if I needed stitches.
He was trying to get the bleeding stopped, and I was trying to relax, so I leaned back a little and took some deep breaths, but I had forgotten about the lit candle on the back of the toilet seat — and my hair caught fire.
It didn’t burn too much before we noticed my head crackling and smoking, and luckily a few whacks with my hand were all it took to put it out.
So when I tell this story, I call it The Day I Sliced Open My Thumb, Passed Out, and Set My Hair On Fire, All Within Five Minutes. You think YOU had a bad day?!