I just stumbled across this tiny freak.. In my closet.
I thought I tossed it years ago.
Cleanse it with fire! Get the Holy water!
Thinking Brain knows it's a toy. Vintage, at that.
Primitive Brain says KILL IT! KILL IT WITH FIRE!
Showing posts with label Primitive and Thinking brains at war. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Primitive and Thinking brains at war. Show all posts
Friday, January 3
Holy water!
Friday, August 23
Primitive Brain vs Thinking Brain..again
I woke up this morning and staggered into the kitchen for coffee, pushing my bangs out of my eyes.
I felt a hard, oval object on top of my head.
Stupid hair clip..must have forgotten to take it out.
Wait. I don't wear hair clips...barrettes..
Then it moved.
(for those of you that know me, you know I have a long history of overreacting with violence and panic. On the flip side, I have a long history of having freakishly large bugs/spiders ON MY HEAD)
Thinking Brain: Go look in the mirror before you freak out, assuming it's some giant man-eating insect.
Primitive Brain: OMG ITS A GIANT MAN EATING BUG! KILL IT WITH FIRE! GET THE CLEAVER!
So, I calmly walked (at high speed) to a mirror and discovered I DID in fact have an enormous beetle perched on my head.
Thinking Brain: Ok, do not panic and smash this thing in your hair. Calmly remove it. See if you can flick it off.
Primitive Brain: FIRE! CLEAVER! LAWN MOWER!!!
GiantBugOfSatan was not moving, and clung desperately to my curls
(curls meaning- bedhead that looks more like shrubbery than hair)
The more I messed with GBoS, the angrier he got, and started wildly waving his antennae.
Michael wakes up to find me spinning in a circle, flapping my hands at my head, bent over at the waist. I may have been making a high pitched yodeling noise.
GBoS became extremely frightened at some point ("this tree has gone freaking insane!"), because he dove off my head and hauled ass across the kitchen.
He's still lurking in there somewhere.
God help me.
This works, in case God is busy elsewhere:
I felt a hard, oval object on top of my head.
Stupid hair clip..must have forgotten to take it out.
Wait. I don't wear hair clips...barrettes..
Then it moved.
(for those of you that know me, you know I have a long history of overreacting with violence and panic. On the flip side, I have a long history of having freakishly large bugs/spiders ON MY HEAD)
Thinking Brain: Go look in the mirror before you freak out, assuming it's some giant man-eating insect.
Primitive Brain: OMG ITS A GIANT MAN EATING BUG! KILL IT WITH FIRE! GET THE CLEAVER!
So, I calmly walked (at high speed) to a mirror and discovered I DID in fact have an enormous beetle perched on my head.
Thinking Brain: Ok, do not panic and smash this thing in your hair. Calmly remove it. See if you can flick it off.
Primitive Brain: FIRE! CLEAVER! LAWN MOWER!!!
GiantBugOfSatan was not moving, and clung desperately to my curls
(curls meaning- bedhead that looks more like shrubbery than hair)
The more I messed with GBoS, the angrier he got, and started wildly waving his antennae.
Michael wakes up to find me spinning in a circle, flapping my hands at my head, bent over at the waist. I may have been making a high pitched yodeling noise.
GBoS became extremely frightened at some point ("this tree has gone freaking insane!"), because he dove off my head and hauled ass across the kitchen.
He's still lurking in there somewhere.
God help me.
This works, in case God is busy elsewhere:
Monday, February 18
I think..your fingers are..um
BACKWARDS. OR SIDEWAYS.
Last Monday night, Michael was outside playing with the dogs.
I hear him come inside, muttering "ow ow ow"
I hurry to see what happened, (knowing Michael doesn't say Ow unless he's on fire or missing limbs)...
He shows me his left hand.
Thinking Brain: Ok. Injury. Assess. First Aid.
Primitive Brain: Uh. Wait. Something is wrong. REALLY WRONG OMG.
Thinking Brain: Blood- we need nonstick wound pads..what else
Primitive Brain: UM. Fingers. Fingers pointing in the wrong directions! WTF!!!
Thinking Brain: Fingers. Fingers are dislocated.....wait. WTF!!!
*Thinking Brain and Primitive Brain run around screaming and waving their arms*
The two parts of my brain got their shit together finally.
Hand under the icy cold tap while I crated dogs/found his shoes/found pants for me (hey I was heading to bed, don't judge), keys, insurance info, etc
I grabbed my giant ice pack (it's me, of course I need ice packs at the ready at all times) and off we go.
How did he do this? "I smacked my hand off the grill"
That translates to "I smacked the grill hard enough to bend the stainless steel side table".
Diagnosis?
two dislocated fingers (What, you're Dr. House?? Medical mystery!?), a broken middle finger, severely sprained thumb and 3 stitches.
Thank sweet baby Jesus his fingers relocated on the drive there. I was ill thinking of the Drs relocating those fingers. Gag. No, really. GAG.
What I've learned:
-You can never have too much ice on hand (HA!). Get the fake ice cubes. No leaking.
-Be prepared for the most ridiculous injuries at all hours. Because it's Us. It will happen.
-I do not do well with dislocations. I can peer into a gaping wound without batting an eyelash, but fingers bending the wrong way? I turn green and my brain shuts off for a moment.
-Michael, who rated his pain as a TWO at the ER, is actually a complete pansy and doesn't want me to remove his stitches, because "you will hurt me".
Frankly, I think he was confused by "rate your pain on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst pain you've felt". Two? TWO???
-After 1 week, hands turn the most fascinating shades of yellow. With black spots. And blue spots. And a few blobs of a lovely raspberry shade.
I have the fun job of taping up his middle and ring fingers...and ripping off the tape.
Makes me shudder...what if I jerk something and his fingers are on sideways again!?!?
Last Monday night, Michael was outside playing with the dogs.
I hear him come inside, muttering "ow ow ow"
I hurry to see what happened, (knowing Michael doesn't say Ow unless he's on fire or missing limbs)...
He shows me his left hand.
Thinking Brain: Ok. Injury. Assess. First Aid.
Primitive Brain: Uh. Wait. Something is wrong. REALLY WRONG OMG.
Thinking Brain: Blood- we need nonstick wound pads..what else
Primitive Brain: UM. Fingers. Fingers pointing in the wrong directions! WTF!!!
Thinking Brain: Fingers. Fingers are dislocated.....wait. WTF!!!
*Thinking Brain and Primitive Brain run around screaming and waving their arms*
The two parts of my brain got their shit together finally.
Hand under the icy cold tap while I crated dogs/found his shoes/found pants for me (hey I was heading to bed, don't judge), keys, insurance info, etc
I grabbed my giant ice pack (it's me, of course I need ice packs at the ready at all times) and off we go.
How did he do this? "I smacked my hand off the grill"
That translates to "I smacked the grill hard enough to bend the stainless steel side table".
Diagnosis?
two dislocated fingers (What, you're Dr. House?? Medical mystery!?), a broken middle finger, severely sprained thumb and 3 stitches.
Thank sweet baby Jesus his fingers relocated on the drive there. I was ill thinking of the Drs relocating those fingers. Gag. No, really. GAG.
What I've learned:
-You can never have too much ice on hand (HA!). Get the fake ice cubes. No leaking.
-Be prepared for the most ridiculous injuries at all hours. Because it's Us. It will happen.
-I do not do well with dislocations. I can peer into a gaping wound without batting an eyelash, but fingers bending the wrong way? I turn green and my brain shuts off for a moment.
-Michael, who rated his pain as a TWO at the ER, is actually a complete pansy and doesn't want me to remove his stitches, because "you will hurt me".
Frankly, I think he was confused by "rate your pain on a scale of 1-10, 10 being the worst pain you've felt". Two? TWO???
-After 1 week, hands turn the most fascinating shades of yellow. With black spots. And blue spots. And a few blobs of a lovely raspberry shade.
I have the fun job of taping up his middle and ring fingers...and ripping off the tape.
Makes me shudder...what if I jerk something and his fingers are on sideways again!?!?
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