You should see my finger. It’s a good thing that I’ve been training myself to type one-handed...I’m getting pretty good at it too....this wrist arthritis doesn’t always lend itself to happy typing days. But that’s another story.
Last night I had just gotten back from a long day at the Bible club and the streets. I must be in a hormonal mood slump right now, because I was tired and lethargic most of the day, though I did work up enough energy to play a rousing game of soccer with a couple of the boys. I’m terrible at the game, but my height advantage and the length of my legs’ reach added to the sheer size of these feet helps me kick butt against 8 year olds! And I completed a major milestone: retelling a complete story in Portuguese that was not in the present tense and BEING UNDERSTOOD BY CHILDREN! Soon I will be back in the role of storyteller, a title I have long coveted (L.M. Montgomery, anyone? That fabulous non-Anne book with the never told snake story has haunted my imagination to this day...). The heat wave we’re experiencing could have something to do with being down as well, and the sneaking suspicion that perhaps I won’t be able to experience winter for yet another year. I’ve never seen airline prices this high. Oh Christmas, Christmas, Christmas. But I digress...
So I came home pre-streets, washed dishes, made food for myself to eat later, took a nap and then went running out the door with Sudokus in hand to do on the bus. Diabolico should better be named Addictive, because I couldn’t get the rows of numbers out of my head for the rest of the night. It was the same feeling I had when I was a compulsive rock climber: everywhere I went, I saw routes, lines to climb, even on non-climbable things, like the church ceiling and nearly-smooth buildings. When I like something, my mind latches onto it with passion. I think it’s a good thing I never tried drugs. I think I would make an excellent addict!
The streets were more or less normal; had a great conversation with Carlos and Rodrigo about childhood and what Indiana looks like and why I didn’t have horses as a kid. I got home feeling sticky and dirty and really, really tired, so I quick ran to the butcher before they closed. Their case was dripping and I returned home with $1.50 of thin steaks and two meaty water stains on my knees from where I leaned up to talk to the dude. Threw the meat and veggies into the pressure cooker, took a shower, talked to Tiago, ate dinner. And returned to my stupid sudoku. I am minding my own business when the largest cockroach I have ever seen crawls onto my wall. He’s easily the length of my little finger and too far away to feed to the cat. So I climb up on a stool with a trusty Havaiana flip-flop and swat, hard. (I’ve had back track records in killing baratas before so now I go for a messy kill). I miss. And the next thing I know, a stream of unpronounceable words are flowing from my mouth, the cockroach is missing, I am on the floor, screaming, with tears pouring and huge sobs. It wasn’t enough the hand was already arthritic, no. I had to go and bash a swollen joint against a concrete wall with enough force to dent a car. I cried for fifteen minutes straight. Called Tiago, called Nayra the Nurse, and pulled my mom’s clothespin trick, updated for 2006 Brazil. (My dad broke his finger once and she set it with a clothespin. He still looks like he wants to swear when he remembers the story!) First, separating the clothespin with one hand while you’re shaking is difficult. Wrapping it with gold ribbon is a sweet, classy way to stay in style, and keeping the ribbon in place with a large paper clip, well, perhaps it will find it’s way into medical use someday! Today, the finger is grotesquely swollen, with a violet bruise on the underside, all dotted and streaky. If I don’t bend it it doesn’t hurt! Tiago had 45 people praying for me on the bus this morning. That helped too!
Why must I be so clumsy?