After working two hours mucking out my goats' shed yesterday I, unsurprisingly, got a blister. Not a bad one, but there definitely was a little, albeit, hard and small, bubble on my palm at the base of my middle finger. It itched. I scratched it. It itched some more. So I took my teeth and bit it, taking a piece of my skin away as I did so.
I truly regret my actions.
In ruining this natural protection for my wounds, in removing "God's band-aid" as my mother calls it, I have left myself open for possible infection and scarring. Plus, I have to keep cracking out the band-aids and ointment. Which is a hassle.
Still, it amused me that, upon rising this morning and wishing for a time machine, my purpose would not have been to reverse some world catastrophe or save lives, or even one life. I wanted to use it to unbite my blister and replace my band-aid for God's. It also occurred to me that, knowing self control is, for me, a challenge, all that probably would have happened anyway, just at a later time.
Time heals all wounds, I suppose, so give me the opportunity to whine about it and a few days and all of this will seem but a dream, trapped in times past.
Oh my, I'm going to be late for work, gotta run!
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