Ouch. I have so many cuts on my fingers from working in the basement yesterday, and I use the work “working” in the sense of doing something I like to do, not in the sense of laboring all day for The Man. Fun Stuff. I finished building my desk yesterday (see yesterday’s megaparagraph) which, because it’s smaller than the door I was using as a desk before, frees up some room in my basement lair as well as some room in the work shop where the desk top was loitering while I was disgusted with it. In a frenzy of activity, I finished the desk, moved a lot of lumber around and started cleaning up the basement lair, and whenever there’s that much big, heavy stuff being shifted, hammered on and screwed together, There Will Be Blood. I cut my fingers in at least a half-dozen places, and they’re not going to heal until maybe April because I’ve got some kind of weird old guy disease that makes all my skin dry up and crack during the winter, and if I cut a finger, especially when I skin a knuckle, it just bleeds and bleeds and bleeds and bleeds and bleeds. There aren’t enough Band-Aids in the world to take care of this problem. Several of the cuts are on the tips of my fingers, so just typing this drivel is physically painful. I have to go take my morphine now.

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