This is what happens when I try to live like a normal person. . .

Neighbor Beth is here. She's wiping down the kitchen as I slowly, slooowly type this, for reasons which will become clear in a minute.

Those of you who follow me on Facebook will know that I had a cheerful afternoon of productve semi-drunkeness with Neighbor Beth (who is Not Good With Blood). After the prosecco had worn off, and with a liter of water and tea under my belt, I mandolined my right ring finger.

There was a sudden spray of blood. Then there was a heartfelt "Oh, SHIT" from me, as I realized that the suddenly-numb sensation in my right paw was due to my having halfway cut off my right ring finger. I tried everything: direct pressure, flour, glue: nothing worked for longer than I care to think about. Poor Beth, who hates her own blood and has a tenuous relationship with other people's blood, mopped up mine for the 40 minutes it took for shit to stop happenin'.

I'm more than a little annoyed that this happened while I was sober. Beth is more than a little annoyed that she had to scrub blood off my spice shelves. AND I had to throw away a perfectly good, blood-soaked tea towel.

None of the zucchini was affected, though. Which is good: we have a Pickle Party coming up in two weeks.

I kind of wish I'd accepted Beth's offer of another bottle of wine. My finger hurts.