Lobster Claw

As you may recall, my husband and I participate in a self-defense class and somehow every time I end up bruised and/or bleeding. This week's injury?

The Lobster Claw.

Billy and were sparring (without pads -- brilliant, right?) and somehow my fist connected with his kneecap. I have had my fair share of jammed digits, playing basketball throughout junior high and high school, but this hurt like none other. I was fine that night, but come Tuesday morning I couldn't move my hand and the pain was shooting down my left forearm.

I made the mistake of showing Faith my hotdog-sized finger, and she immediately sent me to the trainer on campus. He poked and prodded and after I almost clobbered him, he put a splint on and told me to go get x-rays. Which, of course, I didn't. I took two Tylenol and went back to work. However, it's fairly difficult to type and/or write when:

Your writing hand looks like a demented lobster claw. I have considered only typing words from the right side of the keyboard, but I don't think my boss would approve of emails filled with poop, pimp, jump, junk, punk, limp, and kill. It's not all bad though -- I've become accustomed to "hunting & pecking" and my coworkers have forgiven me for continually flicking them off. Hopefully this will heal soon and I can go back to writing my own reports and typing faster than 10 WPM.

P.S. Under normal circumstances I would have made a special post in honor of my mother's birthday yesterday, but: 1.) the lobster claw wouldn't cooperate and 2.) she went to go see Topol in Fiddler on the Roof and I'm royally jealous so she doesn't get a blog post until I'm done pouting.

I'm sorry. I love you, Mom. Happy belated birthday!