I managed to hurt myself the other day. Nothing serious, no Air Ambulance was called, no trip to the ER needed, not even a BandAid.
No, I just managed to bash my thumb pretty thoroughly.
Unfortunately, like all my recent injuries, it was deeply uncool. I was reaching for a Kleenex and I slammed my thumb into the edge of a wastebasket. So I don't even have a vaguely interesting story about slamming it in a car door, or getting it caught in a printer. It's just my own sad clumsiness.
I think I may have been cursed to endure this form of minor injury. Possibly I have angered Yugren, the Baltic god of minor inconveniences, and he has seen fit to smack me with his Nargling Stick.
(The Nargling Stick is usually depicted as a willow rod with a small bag of goose poop tied to one end.)
For instance, I took up cycling in a semi-serious way a couple of years back. Cycling gives one the opportunity for epic, shocking injuries. You can crash and scrape acres of skin from your shins, hands, and forearms. You can break ribs and collarbones.
I have not been injured in any of these frightening, deeply interesting ways. My bones remain unbroken. My dignity, on the other hand, has been wounded a few times.
My injuries came when I was learning to use the poorly named "clipless pedals" (these pedals actually snap to special cleats on your shoes; failing to clip out when you stop is bad). I fell over a couple of times in my driveway and on my street. No problem. But twice I have failed to clip out and crashed in front of other people.
The first time, I suddenly pulled up behind a bus that pulled in front of me to let out passengers. I failed to unclip, and everyone in the back of the bus had a good view of me slowly tipping to one side.
The second incident was much the same, except that it happened in front of a seniors home, with half a dozen elderly residents looking on as I kissed the pavement.
And then there was the wasp-in-the-eye incident. The less said about how I flapped my arms like a crack-addled monkey, trying to dislodge the menace from behind my glasses, the better. At least I didn't fall off the bike that time.
Other injuries have been, if possible, more pathetic.
For example, there's sneezing.
The men in my family are prodigious sneezers. Being near us when we let fly can be dangerous; the entire upper body is involved, and the cone of flung mucus can be up to three metres in distance, and almost as wide.
This means that I have actually pulled muscles in my back by sneezing.
This results in fun phone conversations such as this:
Me: "I'd love to help you move, but I can't lift anything heavy right now. I hurt myself while sneezing."
My friend: "Geez, if you don't want to do it you can just say you don't want to help."
Me: "No, I really did-"
My (former) friend: [Click]
Sneeze-related injuries are not as awkward as the time I hurt myself while tying my shoes. I lost my balance (doing a task I mastered around the age of five or six), tipped over, caught myself, and yanked a muscle in my shoulder.
Someday I'm sure I'll hurt myself in an interesting and impressive way. Something that leaves a scar, or lets me wear a cool eye patch.
Until then, I'll have to return to my quest: to hunt down Yugren, and beat him without mercy with his own Nargling Stick.
Visit Matthew Claxton's blog at http: //tinyurl. com/7mwo2qj or www.langleyadvance.com.
