I'm begining to realize that it's time for me to move out because my apartment is starting to turn on me. Actually, that's not exactly true. It's only going after the fingers on my left hand.

I started out this past weekend with a full complement of working fingers. Everything was going well, and I was even thinking about restarting my dormant violin career.

Then it started.

Friday evening, I was changing my shirt before I went out. After a brief struggle, I put my head through the head hole (which is fun to say out loud). No problem. I put my right arm through the right sleeve. No problem. At that point, I'm batting two-for-two and thinking to myself I've got this whole putting-on-a-shirt thing down. I put my left arm through the left sleeve, triumphant until I sanded the fuck out of two of my knuckles - ring and knuckle - on a rafter. Maybe I got a little too cocky, but I swear to God, that rafter had never been there before.

Fingers left: 3

Saturday evening, I was sitting in a bar with Tbone and Ned when I realized that one of my fingers - pointer - felt all swollen and stiff. I looked down and saw that it was all bruised up for about two-thirds the length of my finger. I have no idea how, but the bruise was sort of in the shape of my landlord.

Fingers left: 2

Early this morning, 'round about 2 AM, I was heading up to bed. I said goodnight to QVC, turned off the lights downstairs and made my way to the stairs. Five stairs up, an invisible hand pushed me (or I tripped), and I gashed the bejeezus out of my pinky.

Fingers left: 1

So, now I'm down to just a thumb, which I guess is cool in a Fonzie sort of way, but not so cool when I have to type all day. In the meantime, if any of you see me and my left hand is reduced to just a mash of cartilege and gore, you'll know why.

gotta watch out for those rafters.

perhaps the apartment is trying to hold you hostage by stealing your fingers the same way that rose red place takes mistresses, maids and small deformed children.

wow, i'd be about 10 shades of uneasy if someone compared my domicile to rose red. you don't have an autistic girlfriend or anything do you?

anyway, i don't know you (or your fingers) well enough to lament their passing or offer words of encouragement. i can only express my hope that you have enough fingers left to produce entertaining posts. you've assuaged the boredom of my workday on 2 occasions now. THANK YOU!

well, they're pretty sore.

if only I knew what Rose REd was.

rose red is a house in lakewood washington. it was made into a TV movie written by stephen king. the woman who owned the house was always adding to it because the house "ask" her to. after her death it's supposed to have kept "growing" even though there was no construction. people disappeared from the house. maids, the couples daughter, etc. lots of crazy stuff associated with it.

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Nedward on May 15, 2003 5:39 PM