Singed

I burned the sweet holy fuck out of my arm on Thursday.

I somehow, in the process of performing my domestic best on Thursday, managed to press my forearm (white, vulnerable, pasty) against the 8 kajillion degrees hot iron. So now I have this really interesting strip of science experiment in a suggestive spot -- I kind of look like I recently attempted to slash my wrist.

It didn't hurt at the time, didn't really do more than look ugly for a couple of days, which I took as a good sign, but, as it turns out, was not such a good sign. See, it was Saturday, as the chunks of skin began to fall from the wound, when I realized this is a very ugly situation.

DeeP took a look at it today and informed me that, "yeah, that's a third degree burn."

So, right. Now I'm not just mentally fliberdygibbety, but I've got a THIRD DEGREE BURN ON MY ARM.

I don't know if it is because of said burn, but the whole arm hurts. My elbow? hurts. Wrist? Fucking bitch fuck fuck. Point of this post?

If my arm falls off in the night, just know I always loved you. I will always. . . god. . . no. . . more. . . typing. . . (maybe I'll post a pic later, if you're lucky!!)