I’m so glad I stapled my thumb today. Otherwise, I may have forgotten that tomorrow I have to return a book to the library.
Here’s how it worked.
- I accidentally stapled my left thumb this afternoon.
- After I thought, “Duh, you retard,” and “Oww” and “Fuck” and “You know what, blood is such a pretty color,” I thought, “Say, that hurts! Can you imagine how painful a stabbing would be?” And then I reflected for a few seconds about “Death of a Cheerleader”, a gripping Tori Spelling/Andrea Martin drama that I watched this morning on Lifetime.
- I lingered on the thought of stabbing as I pressed more blood from my thumb. Thought about how I would love to paint the powder room the same color. Or have someone paint it for me, since I have no patience.
- While in the other bathroom washing my flesh wound and marvelling at how much more copious and scandalous the blood looked when mixed with water, I thought, “If this is how much a tiny puncture hurts, I can’t imagine a knife plunging into my body and rupturing my spleen.” So I imagined it, and envisioned multiple stabbings inflicted with a variety of extremely sharp and gleaming knives.
- I considered the damage that could be done with a series of chainsaws, ice picks, and a stunning array of other household implements and garage tools that could also be adapted, quite readily, for use as instruments of torture.
- I thought, “Ow” as my little staple wound throbbed under the pressure of the tap water. I wondered if I could trick myself into identifying the sensation as pleasure instead of pain.
- I dried my hands and thought, “I don’t think so. But you never know.”
- I remembered the torture and murder victims in “American Psycho”. I thought, “The movie was nowhere as disgusting as the book.”
- I sucked my thumb a little.
- I realized “American Psycho”, the book, was still resting on the little table by the front door, awaiting return to the library, and that it is due tomorrow.
And there you have it, in ten easy steps.