Scuffed, Scratched, and Scraped

Amazing how you only notice most of those little dings and dents in passing … until the next morning. I feel all of them today, some I didn’t even know were there last night.

Mother Nature cut me some slack last night and it didn’t (warning for the weather sensitive: I’m about to say the dreaded “R” word) rain. So when I got home, I hurriedly donned some workin’ duds and hit the bricks. I actually made some progress and I have to tell you, it felt good. I was pleased, exhilarated, and dare I say it, happy. Kind of made up for all the progress I didn’t make on Sunday.

Towards the end I got a little overzealous in moving bricks in prep for my next outing. It wasn’t that I couldn’t handle the weight. It was that I couldn’t balance the weight in the rocks once I bent down to lay them on the porch. I nearly went headfirst onto the stack and then the porch.

Instead, I hugged the stack to me in a really awkward embrace and steadied myself just as I prepared to topple. My wrists took the brunt of it and my right knee got just a nick or two.

I didn’t notice just how much of the brunt they took until I got in the shower. Hot water on raw flesh. Hmmm. Probably not a good combo.

Now they’re just scraped up with some crazy jagged lines, like I tried to cut my wrists but didn’t quite succeed. Suicide by brick.

I guess it's possible.