First things first. Incredibly sad about Michael Jackson. Now I did not know him, but his influence and popularity is undeniable, as was his talent. I was born a few years too late to really appreciate the scope of his popularity, but his music stands the test of time and if you tell me that your iTunes is not playing some MJ right now, I’d say you are lying. But on to why we are here.
As you may recall, I last left you the loyal reader (all 4 of you…if you are keeping track, my readership is increasing…from 2 to 3 to 4…leaps and bounds people) in my Week That Was telling you that I was headed to do some kitchen demolition. Which was true, but I did not realize I would also attempt to demolish my head too. The plan was to take down the crown molding in the kitchen and then remove the drop ceiling.
Instead, I pulled a piece of crown molding off and dropped the ceiling on my head. I was making good progress and doing well in removing the crown molding but then I encountered a stubborn piece. After much prying and pulling, I used the time-honored method of pulling much, much harder on the piece, which then resulted in me not only pulling down the crown molding, but also the ceiling tiles, the metal frame that was barely holding things in place, and also the large florescent light that weighs roughly 30 or so pounds and contains dangerous elements like metal, glass, electricity and the like.
I jumped back after having been hit in the face with something (the crown molding I think) and immediately did the blood check (you know, the one where you touch the hurting area to make sure it is not gushing blood using either your shirt or finger…). It came up positive for blood so I ran upstairs, grabbed some toilet paper (vital to every first-aid kit) to apply pressure and prevent full-scale carpet destruction and called my roommate.
The call went something like this –
Me: You have to come home!
Me (interrupting): I cut myself and I’m bleeding.
Him: I’ll be there in a second.
Seriously. That was the entire conversation. We decided that a trip to the E.R. was probably in order, so we departed quickly. At the E.R. we were greeting warmly and fairly quickly (by E.R. standards) ushered into a room where the doctor looked at my wound and decided that yes, it did need to be closed, but not with stitches but instead superglue called Dermabond.
Now I am not the greatest patient in the world as my roommate Jacob and I kept cracking jokes to the doctor about my wound and the like while he was working on it. And he was either having the worst day ever or was the least funny person on the planet because he hardly ever cracked a smile. Jokes about eye patches, disfigurement, street cred, tools, and the like flew thick and fast and they all flopped. At least to him. Jacob and I thought it funny.
So we left there relatively unscathed and I am now working on a pretty sweet black eye and gnarly looking scab. I’d post a picture of it but you’ve probably eaten in the last 24 hours and I do not want to disturb you unnecessarily. But rest assured, it is awesome!
The rest of the ceiling and frame and lights were removed last night without incident and the kitchen project moves on. Just a little more gingerly…