Things I Don't Get.

Myself. Mainly My Accident Prone-ness

Okay. So this should be pretty self-explanatory. But seriously. I don't get it. Pretty much anything I do, I get hurt from it. You think I'm kidding.

I mean, I've cut chunks of flesh off of my legs while shaving. At least three times before. Not an exaggeration. A little chunk of my knee got stuck to my shower door once. I've got the scars to prove it.

With pretty much anything I do, I somehow wind up with bruises or scratches. How? I've no idea. But it happens. I have at least two bruises on one knee at the moment. How I got them? I'll never know. Same goes with the scratches.

Scars just appear randomly on my body. I mean they lliterally just appear. I would remember getting hurt enough to get a scar from it, right? And they don't just appear right? Wrong. For me at least.

It's been like this for me all of my life. Which is cool. That's fine. But, since I've started working where I work (Dont' worry I WILL be complaining about that place at some point, I'm honestly surprised I haven't yet..) back at the end of July, it's gotten worse.

I work as a cook at a nursing home. I know, I don't need to hear your opinions because believe me, I really do know. Anyways. I burn myself at least once a day. I run into the corners of sharp metal counters all the time. I ram my hips into them all the time, even. I just run into pretty much everything there. All of that, though is okay. It's manageable.

Except my latest injury, which happened unexplainably and magically. Are you ready for this story? And I hope you aren't too queasy.. Because if you are.. This is going to be... interesting..

Anyways.

Last night I was washing dishes, like I do every night. But I was nearing the end, washing plates. The dinner was grilled cheese and chili (really freaking weird food combinations there, let me tell you) so there was cheese stuck to the occasional plate. This made me use the wire scrubber for the plates with the cheese on them. Do you see where this is going yet?

No? Okay, I'll continue.

So I'm scrubbing and rinsing pretty fast because I'm tired and want to go home. One of the wires gets stuck on my thumb nail and somehow, magically, manages to cut it. Then it continues to go under the nail and separate the corner of my nail from my skin. It hurts initially so I say "Ow," of course, you know. Then I look at my thumb. That's when I mutter, "Fuck." It's bleeding. Like kinda spewing blood. When I say spewing blood, you're probably imagining gushing and blood just flying all over the place. It wasn't like that, but my thumb and half of my left hand was covered in blood. So I'm like well damn.. I don't want to put my thumb on these dishes because ew germs from peoples' mouths (I'm a bit of a germaphobe) and I'm NOT putting it in the bin of water where the dishes have been soaking. Because then I'd definitley get a disease and die. So I do the dishes pretty much one handedly. Since our first aid kit sucks and doesn't have any proper sized bandaids. Then I get a genius idea to put a glove on my injured hand. (I know I'm an idiot)

Anyways, after that I was pretty fast with dishes and me and Morgan got done with work and went home. (Weird I work with my sister, but not really that weird. Us Keller girls Rock, as we've been told.) So when I get home I ask my mom if we have bandaids. She looks at me questioningly, like its the weirdest question ever. (Gosh Avery why do you need a band aid?) So I show her my finger. She instantly gags, looks away and tells me there are bandaids in the cuppard. I get them, go upstairs where I wash my finger with soap and water, pour half a bottle of peroxide on it (might be a bit of an exaggeration), then put rubbing alcohol on it before wrapping the bandaid around it.

So, yeah. That's my fun story of me and my magnetism to getting injured... I only wish I could make these things up...