Well, dear invisible friend, this may be the last snippet of conversation from me for a while. Blogged conversation, that is. As far as I know, my mouth will still be functional after surgery.
Did I not tell you I was getting surgery on the moose-related injury? Oh, surely, I must have done. Really? Hm. Must have been a conversation we had in my head. All right. Here's the outline of events.
When I hit the moose in May, some glass shards lodged themselves into my knuckle. [NB: It is inappropriate to refer to my injury as "moose knuckle." Evidently, it means something entirely different.] What? No, I didn't punch the moose, I ran into it with my car. Remember? Yes, I did tell you that. Yes, I did. Go check, then.
Anyway. The first picture is my post-accident injury, almost immediately after I arrived at the cabin. Note rustic decor in background. That's genuine faux wood paneling, I'll have you know. The second is the same hand, a couple of days later. Again, take a moment to enjoy the newly recovered chair and ottoman that was my grandfather's, also featured in the photograph. And by newly recovered, I mean within the last twenty-five years. The last is a comparison of injured and uninjured knuckles, taken today. At work. Where I will not be for two weeks.
I shouldn't be gleeful about that.
After all, after the surgeon gets done monkeying around in my knuckle and taking out the icky bits, and yes, these are technical surgical terms, I'm supposed to keep said digit dry and immobile for the time I have off. This concerns me a little, as it is my left hand that is injured and unlike Inigo Montoya, I am left-handed.
Immobile. And dry. I can do that. Right?