Yes, you read that correctly.
I have a stitching injury that will probably require advanced medical technology and/or the careful attention of a Mayo Clinic trained physician who might look remarkably like Jeffrey Dean Morgan.
Do you suppose that I could get my hands on some of that fancypants tape that all of the Olympic athletes are wearing? You know -- the stuff that they put on their excruciatingly well-sculpted parts to assist them in jumping the approximate length of a football field while simultaneously whistling the theme song from the first Rocky movie?
Here is where I should probably confess that my injury is really nothing more than a sore spot on my finger that is caused by the repeated poking of a needle through this:
(color conversion in honor of the 2012 London Olympic games)
It's coming along nicely, and I really am enjoying every minute of it, but I realize now that I would be crazy lucky to finish it before the end of the closing ceremonies on Sunday. I'm determined, though, so I suppose that I had better get back to the Happy Chair before the day gets away from me again.
Stewey, of course, is completely disgusted by all of it and secretly wishes that I would just run away from home. I keep catching him in the closet moving my things about as if he's measuring for a new organizing system for his little silk smoking jackets.
"I could have thrived with a smarter owner."