In stitches…

… literally.

When I started the day, I imagined the title of this post being "it's all my fault," because of snow last night – I'd hoped that there would be snow when I got here, and it snowed last night, to the lack of delight of most other people.

As I continued the day with a stroll around Weir Pond, I thought I might wax poetic about walking through my paintings, as I recognized locations that I had painted before. Even as I stood up from a moderate slip in the snow, I was considering skipping posting altogether in favor of just getting down to some painting tonight.

It wasn't until I reached into my pocket for the camera to take some more pictures that I realized that I'd done more than just scrape my right hand when I landed on it and used it to steady myself to minimize that slip. 

I was bleeding all the fuck everywhere, and pretty damned sure I would need stitches. It was literally dripping. When I raised it over my head, blood ran down my sleeve. I held it in a sort of cupped shape, and the blood kept forming a puddle in my palm. A phone call, a short walk, and a short car ride (as a passenger) to Urgent Care to arrive 5 minutes before they closed later, I was right. Ten stitches, a tetanus booster shot, five days of antibiotics, plus a whole lot of keeping it dry and clean.

My sister, ever a Shearstone, jokingly asked if I had run out of paint.

10 stitches later, and thoroughly mummified.

I've never had stitches before, outside of when I had my wisdom teeth out ±30 years ago. I guess there's first time for everything. This is definitely not part of the adventure I imagined.

​So, ah, I guess I'll be taking more pictures, and maybe some reading or writing, before I get a chance to start painting.

Definitely not paint.