Summer Resolutions

It's the beginning of summer, and I'm getting that feeling I get every summer. The feeling that I will have time in the next three months to catch up on the resolutions that I slacked off on from January until May. But this summer I'm taking two classes and I have a house to finish and unpack. But I'm hoping that I can downsize some of our stuff, and finally make sure that everything has a place. I decided we have way too many little things floating around when I had to label a THIRD box as "junk drawer". When every drawer is a junk drawer you have a problem.

I know all of my readers (Mom, Teresa and Zac) (no, my husband and my father don't read my blog regularly) (yes this is a passive-aggressive way of trying to make them feel guilty if they ever do read my blog) are concerned about the state of my pinky finger. It's been a wild ride, I tell ya.

I went to see the specialist, who was a lovely man despite being only 5 feet tall and slightly crossed eyes. He looked at my finger for about thirty seconds, and said confidently "I can fix this". Then he gets a needle that's about as long as he is tall and jams it in my palm. Apparently, despite refusing to ever own, fire or even touch a gun, I gave myself "trigger finger" which necessitated injecting cortisone into the tendon. My hand began to swell like a balloon as the cortisone went in, and he merrily tried to chat with me about grad school as I tried not to howl like a baboon on fire. Afterwards, he did his best to make me feel really happy I'm a social worker.

Doctor: So, you're a social worker?
Me: Yep.
Doctor: They don't make much money, huh?
Me: Nope, not really
Doctor: I know a social worker. She barely makes enough to live on.
Me: That's too bad.
Doctor: Yeah, and that's in Phoenix. It's probably even worse here!
Me: I guess....
Doctor: I always tell her "you might as well be working for free!" hehehe.
Me: Well, it's not that bad...
Doctor: Yep, working for free. She might as well just be a volunteer.
Me: Seriously...
Doctor: I mean, she lives by herself and can barely pay the bills! What if you have kids?!
Me: So...can I go pay my copay now and you can bill my insurance company $1,000 for my 30 second evaluation?

My finger started getting better almost immediately, but it wasn't done punishing me yet. Oh, no. After I was able to bend it again I could take off the tape I'd been wearing. At first my finger was itchy, but I figured that was normal. Then, the skin start peeling off, and getting all red and gross. I ignored it, hoping it would go away. Clearly, I didn't learn much of a lesson from waiting a month to get the whole "trigger finger" thing looked at. But Danny noticed my angry, mutant finger after a few days, and announced that he was diagnosing me with athlete's foot. On my finger. If you are silently gagging a little bit right now, don't be ashamed. I did to, and it was my appendage. It made sense, though. Not a lot of air was getting to it, moisture under the tape and the splint...*gag* So I purchased "anti-fungal cream" and have been frantically applying it every 30 seconds or so. It seems to be working, as the redness, itchiness and soreness is gone, and the skin has grown back. I think my finger may have run out of cute little tricks to punish me for forcing it to do manual labor, but if a tiny face grows on the tip and starts muttering satanic phrases at me, I wouldn't be surprised.