I do believe I cut myself

Yes I mean that literally and it's not that bad, but night before last I fucked up with my big ass chef's knife and cut my finger. I won't post photos. I was really angry. Not at the knife, but at myself. Strangely I was angry because I had gotten the notion that I wouldn't be able to finish making my dinner. Sam was freaking out, as to be expected and at least one memorable quote from her was, "It's ok daddy, I've heard that word before." Sam was a trooper. She helped me out a lot. Max also helped and even paused his XBox game briefly to get me more band-aids.

No I didn't need a stitch. Phew.

It did hurt and it hurt to type all day yesterday. (There is a veiled excuse as to why I haven't blogged in there somewhere.)

I do in fact have a point. I know I haven't gotten to it yet.

I've been trying to examine things that I've grown to believe about myself and try to decide if they are true or not. One thing I had picked up along the way was that I wasn't very smart in a common sense way. That is to say I was incompetent at some things. I have some theories as to how I arrived at such conclusions, but they are not the point of this post either. One of them was, "I'm clumsy and shouldn't be around sharp things."

Let's take the day I cut myself as an example. I did a way overdue and nasty chore around the house (I will also spare you those details) and I managed to scrape and pinch my little finger on my left hand quite harshly. I did get the job done, but at a very teeny loss of blood. Then came the above mentioned kitchen knife fuck up. So While there are certainly some that aren't true, I'm starting to think that one might be true. I won't stop cutting up onions. In fact I went back and finished cooking dinner. I won't, however, being going out and getting the latest De-Walt chop saw for my collection.