Hazards Of The Job

It's not like I'm fishing for crab on the Northwestern for 72 sleepless hours in the Bering Strait like on Deadliest Catch (which my dad loves.) But last night we were all burning the midnight oil at the AP skyscraper (okay, so it wasn't that late) and when I get tired, I have a bad habit of leaning my face on my right hand while I'm proofing pages that smell not unlike sharpies. Being right-handed, I often I have my trusty red pen in my right hand and when said pen isn't capped, it tends to create a lovely abstract artwork that looks like a bad tattoo of a red spider web on the right side of my face. Hopefully I'll make it through today's round of pages without turning myself into a human ink project or fall off the bow into sub-zero waters, which is a real hazard in my living room these days.

My right hand, however, is already very conspicuously covered in red ink. I don't know how it happened, or how I managed to forget the delicious tofu stir-fry, that I was planning to enjoy for lunch at home, this morning. My growling stomach has been chastising me for it all day. I did have peanut M&Ms, but that does not a satisfying lunch make.

And while I'm telling you about all the things that went wrong today, I was driving down the lovely Carnegie Avenue this morning in the pouring rain, already a good ten minutes behind schedule, when I decided that at a red light somewhere between my place and the Q was a good place to trade my tan hoodie for my black fleece. I had one arm in the sleeve of the fleece when the light decided that then was a good time to turn green. In an effort to not become another road rage statistic, I started moving while trying to get my other arm into the sleeve and completely pulled whatever muscle connects my neck to my left shoulder. The other drivers were not sympathetic to my plight and honked anyway.