Flesh and Heat Don't Go Together

It's harder having an epiphany before you wake up. At least, before you wake up and have caffeine. I discovered this yesterday, the hard way.

Some background is necessary here. It's pretty evident that I like coffee. So does one of my roommates. We have a 12 cup coffee pot. It was an ancient beast, and it finally decided to die. I gave it a decent and heartfelt burial.

About 7 years ago I had yet to be hooked on that lovely little bean. My dad came down for my college graduation. He loves coffee too, so I rushed out to get a little 4 cup pot just for him. It was one of the things I took with me when I got divorced. Jon didn't drink coffee.

So, since the big one crapped out, I dragged the little one out for emergency purposes. Freshly ground beans - the fragrance of a good morning.

Yeah, right.

In my eagerness to pour this lovely little elixir of life, I pulled out the carafe at an angle. Now, it's a small pot, right? It doesn't weigh very much. Neither does the actual machine. Consequently, the whole damn thing started to move.

Naturally, I decided to hold it down to keep it steady. Not a good idea. Because I didn't grab the plastic with my fingertips. No, not me. Why would I do anything smart?

I grabbed the hot plate with my fingertips. Every single one on my left hand. Just before I had to go teach my first Saturday class this semester.

Ouch isn't the word. I sat for half an hour with my fingertips in a glass of ice. It's not the way I thought I'd wake up yesterday.

But just think what a great scene it will make for something!

Between fixing computers and my shift linkage breaking, I haven't done any writing for the past few days. But sitting here, watching Iron Man, I think I'm going to shake things up by blowing up something. Should be fun.

I'll let you know on Wednesday.

Happy writing, all!