The opposite of genius

Last Friday I was setting up the vitamins I take each night before sleep (magnesium is supposed to aid in remembering dreams and make them more vivid) when the plastic container lid I’d placed them on tipped and fell, knocking all the pills into the trash can and hard to reach places behind furniture.

The tipsy lid/container had been resting atop one of those plastic spindle-cylinders that hold 50 blank CDs.

Blinded with rage I hammered the CD cylinder with a not-quite-closed fist; plastic cracked and exploded, a double-testament to my great strength and foolishness.  For a terrifying moment I thought I’d broken my hand, oddly in the same place I earned a hairline fracture while skateboarding over a decade ago.

It’s now 24 hours later and most of the swelling on the side of that hand has receded.  I don’t think the bone was cracked or else there’d be searing and pulsating pain; the bone could’ve bruised, it still smarts and is sore.

A moment of pure, crystalline stupidity to smash that fucking thing.  Right at the beginning of a few days’ away from work too.

There’s no moral here.  That same Friday people all over the world accidentally killed themselves or other people.

Now the spindle-stack of 50 blank CDs is going to gather dust.  I’m just glad it’s the only thing broken.  

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