thank You for not letting my fingers get amputated.
I’ve been involved in an idiotic accident. It involved a lift door and my fingers. It hurt. It looked far worse than it turned out though. I not only survived, but I kept all my fingers attached. So, thank you, Universe.
It happened as I was dragging some packages to my (landlord’s) flat on the sixth floor. I moved part of the load out the lift when the door started closing. The idea was to prevent the rest of my packages from going away with the lift and getting thieved. I thought I was a superwoman (or I just didn’t think) and stuck my fingers in the lift door, hoping the sensor would catch them and hold the door. The sensor would probably do so if there was one. Oops.
I got four out of five fingers crushed in the door nastily. It didn’t hurt as much as I thought it would, as I was probably in shock over the pain and over my own incredible idiocy. On the superwoman note, I struggled at first, but a few minutes later I just gathered all my strength and pried the door apart. I congratulated myself on surviving myself. I could have got four fingers amputated, which would be highly awkward, you know, to type with all six fingers instead of all ten.
On the bruise I applied ice, kept it there for two hours and voila, my fingers are like new. The same evening I was already practising yogic hand stands. One would hope that I learned from my experience, but I’m apparently too dumb to learn from my dumbness because the next day I put my fingers in the lift again when demonstrating to my mother what happened. I didn’t put them in all the way though. No harm was done. Except to my dignity and sense of self-worth.
I was being mean as hell today. And the worst part? I was enjoying myself while at it.
First of all, I lied shamelessly. I felt so exhausted that I was literally falling asleep in my chair. I couldn’t envision staying awake for several more hours, waiting for my English student to arrive for his lesson. So I called him, inventing an excuse why I need to cancel our class today. Miraculously, the moment I put the phone down, I felt refreshed and not sleepy at all. To see the scheme through though, I did take a nap, and it was probably the most expensive nap I ever had. Because I obviously lost some money by cancelling the private lesson. In terms of expense, today’s nap is closely followed by the nap I once took on the train, which resulted in my missing my stop and having to return by quite complicated manoeuvres.
Even worse, I rejoiced at other people’s misfortune when I woke up from my refreshing nap and was still feeling evil. I got a call from my former thesis supervisor, doctor Emma, who asked me to convert her .odt file into a .pdf file. Doctor Emma is a classic academic who can use the computer on a level akin to using a typewriter. That’s normal in academia. The department’s secretary, who is by far the most tech savvy, still produces class timetables in Word because Excel scares the shit out of her. While converting Emma’s file with one click, I listened to the news from my former department that Emma had to share. Apparently, two academics are being sacked. WTF? Academics are never ever sacked. It’s a weird world, once you get in, you stay at your post until your death (not even until you retire because academics don’t retire).
This causes the awkward condition that while new academics are still being trained, there are no jobs for them. No one tells them, of course, and some of the more naive ones find out only after they graduate with a PhD. Like me. I never quite got over the fact that though I’m excellent at what I do, my department preferred to keep their current and far less competent employees instead of hiring me. It’s a huge source of bitterness and anger for me, as it sort of ruined my life as I knew it. I ended up being an overqualified freelancer struggling and failing to earn her living. So, on hearing the news of not one but two of the least competent academics at my ex-department being let go, I was genuinely delighted. I consider it cosmic justice. God’s millgrinds slow, but sure, one would say, but since I don’t believe in God, I call it cosmic justice. The universe is giving me a friendly nod. I nod back with a mean smile.