OUCH!!

I guess, after 48 plus years of life, it had to happen eventually. Today, not 20 minutes ago, for the first time in my life, I got a paper cut. Now, you have to understand something. Sure, it stung more than I would have believed possible. And, given its strategic location on my hand, I'm sure that it's going to bother me all weekend, especially whenever I put my hand into my pocket (to get change or something, already--get your filthy minds out of the gutter!). It's not, however, the pain and irritation of the paper cut that's causing me anxiety. No, rather, it's what this paper cut represents.

There was a time in my life when injury took the form of broken bones, concussions, sprained muscles, cuts that required stitches, bruises and black eyes, and the like. Look at me now. Brought low by a fucking paper cut!

I suppose from here on in it's paper cuts, stiff joints, "computer wrist", itchy skin, and uncomfortable "adult" diapers...