I like my fingers.

I do. I really do. So it disturbs me that the universe is conspiring to disable all the fingers on my left hand.

Sunday night: drawer broke and slanted up, sandwiching my thumb between it and the top of the counter. Result: one painful, moderately purple thumb.

Tuesday afternoon: I catch my index finger in the file drawer, and, reacting to the pain, jerk my finger out of the door...taking a large, bloody chunk out of my finger.

Next to go: the middle. We're on a 36 hour or so trend here, so if I make it to 48 hours with all digits intact and unharmed, I'll let you know. But I'm leaving the chopping for Michael until then.

Ok, and I had a hilarious work moment. I love the people I work with; have I mentioned that?

I have three professors in my office. One is trying to recall the name of a street a fellow prof lives on; mentions it is the name of a great author. Troy's genius quip? "Steele?"

I think I snorted before I literally lost it. It was hilarious...probably more my reaction to it than the actual moment. I'm actually chuckling right now, thinking of it.

I'm such a dork.