The Ebbing Of The Crimson Tide

Well, well. It's off to work again tomorrow, days culminating at 5:00 p.m. after the #1 son works on his school robot, and a smattering of Pony afterschool academia as his team gears up for competitions.

I'm tired already.

Let's get back to my mostest favoritest subject of all, that being ME! With no new bugs up my butt, due to limited interactions with the world over these Christmas holidays, I'll finish up my bloodletting tale.

When that garage-wall nail forced itself deep into the cushy flesh of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's left forearm, and subsequently withdrew spongy matter in the shape of a small melon ball, the blood loss was not as copious as might be expected. Sure, there was leakage of HM's bubbling burgundy life fluid. But there was no fountain like that of Jed Clampett's bubbling crude. No gush and spray like that time a nurse stabbed a needle into Mrs. HM's arm vein in an attempt to gather evidence of gallbladder malfunction due to stones clogging the bile ducts. (And might I add that Jackson Pollock had nothing on Mrs. HM, her red-on-white splatter making a masterpiece of that nurse's shoes, slacks, and shirt.) No, this time the life fluid of one Mrs. Hillbilly Mom did not spurt out of her vein in a manner that won her many a Secretariat victory in competition with lesser bloodgivers on either side of her at previous Red Cross Blood Drives. Sorry. It is so unlike HM to brag.

The point being that either Mrs. HM's blood pressure meds are doing an admirable job of reining in the pulsating life force's force, or else Mrs. HM was dehydrated and in need of fluids such as a Sonic Diet Coke with Lime. Don't you go worrying about all that caffeine dehydrating HM even further. She adds ice over the course of the afternoon and evening, ice which melts into water, which defrays the diuretic cost of caffeine in her bloodstream.

Three band-aid and triple-antibiotic-ointment changes later, the flesh crater is still tender to the touch, but showing no signs of sepsis such as streaking red lines that might emanate from a fat red pinky finger. Mrs. HM pronounces herself on the mend, and promises to abstain from further bloodletting talk in the future.

Until tomorrow, at least, in case some incident would occur that causes her blood to boil.