Stupid Chicken

 

img_3347There are times when I feel my singledom a little more strongly than other times.

Like tonight, there’s nothing make you feel alone like carving a rotisserie chicken and including your thumb in the process.

There’s nothing that makes you feel more alone than:

  • scrambling to find and grab paper towels to apply compression to the cut, because it’s deep.
  • assessing your own wound to determine if you should go get stitches. (I don’t think I do.)
  • cleaning up your own blood from the floor and the face of the oven.
  • trying to put a band-aid on your dominant hand without help.
  • looking at that knife and realizing you made it through four bread knife serrations before stopping.
  • finishing carving that damn chicken with your non-dominant hand. In fact, you give up and start picking it apart instead.
  • checking the chicken to make sure you didn’t get blood on it (somehow you didn’t).
  • realizing your band-aid ain’t gonna cut it, as you put pressure on it and blood gushes from it.
  • rummaging¬†through your first aid kit at the bottom and back of the bathroom sink to get the good gauze and medical tape.
  • ¬†putting that damn bandage on your dominant hand without help.
  • fighting back tears because you just want someone there to help you and hold you, but there’s no one.

My thumb will be fine. I will be fine. Certainly I’ve survived worse than a cut thumb.

You wouldn’t think a chicken could affect your emotions so much, but that one carving incident brought up quite a lot. Single life can be really good, but sometimes you just want a fucking hug and no one is around.

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