My bedroom door sticks. Let’s get that bit of information out of the way to start with. It’s actually worse in the summer–it barely closes then. It’s a dream in the winter to close, but it’s starting to get bad again. Therefore, when I want to close it enough to keep the dog out of my room, I have to slam it to basically wedge it into the door frame.
Yesterday, in a hurry to get downstairs with a handful of change, I slammed the door with said handful of change, and you can guess what happened. I slammed the side of my hand into the door frame, full force. I thought I’d broken it. It bled profusely for a while, so now I’m left with a bump, a bruise, and probably a scab; I haven’t had the guts to take the bandage off yet to look. And it’s still hurts to touch it. I definitely can’t clap. (Yes, I went a loooong way to get that title.)
If it had happened, say, next Wednesday instead, I could have used Karma for Thursday the 12th, which would have been much more in line with the fact that I’m illegally tagging along on the A to Z Challenge this year. Apparently you can’t spell Karma with a “C.” It’s even more illegal than what I’m doing, and only Buddha knows what might have gotten stuck in the door jamb if I’d attempted it!
Future is past, in my world. It’s a rebirth thing. š
My hand. My poor, poor hand.
