I overslept and didn’t go to the hospital, so I still have unfinished socks.
(I need to work on my sock picture taking setup. it’s hard to get both feet in there.)
But, that’s okay, because today was meant for knitting horror stories. Like I mentioned in my last post, I am a hardcore knitter. So hardcore, that I have sustained a few rather serious knitting related injuries… (those of you on knittyboard will probably remember the first half of this story.)
(and a warning that this post contains injury pictures, nothing bloody or too graphic but the terribly squeamish should look away.)
It was Friday, the twentieth of April, the day before my school goes on spring break. The weather was gorgeous, one of the first nice days in a while. My school’s street hockey team decided to take the half day and go play hockey. I used to manage the team, so they invited me along, and like most of my peers would, I jumped at the opportunity to skip classes and go hang around outside for a couple of hours.
We left at nine o’clock and got to the rink not long after. I spent most of the first hour there cleaning up the vans, reorganizing equipment, and getting water passed around. After I got bored with that I started taking pictures for one of the players, including several shots that I got while standing at various dangerous places around the rink, like right behind the goal, smack dab at center ice (which isn’t ice at all, but we called it that anyway), and one while clinging to the fence on the far end of the benches.
But eventually the daredevil photography also got pretty boring, so I did what any self respecting knitter would do–sat down (on the bench, mind) and pulled out a project.
(To add insult to injury (literally!), the finished cabled calorimetry is just the teeniest bit too small.)
Not twenty minutes later the hard rubber hockey ball came flying out of nowhere and smacked me in the left eye, leaving the eyeball bruised (my contact lens saved it from further damage) and my nose broken and in need of surgery to set it straight again.
The first thing I asked after I got past the “what the hell just happened!?” stage was “where’s my knitting?”
Two months later, to the day: the twentieth of June, the day after graduation, I went into school despite having received my diploma the day before. I had a bit of a hard time letting go. I spent most of the morning helping various teachers clean out their rooms and get their grades organized. Twenty minutes before leaving, I was helping Sandra (who nearly failed me in Chemistry but eventually became one of my favourite staff members) move all of the books off of her bookcase, while discussing the knitting project I was working on at the time with her (she ran the knitting club, although near the end there I was running it while she got paperwork done.)
As I reached up to pull down some books, my arm bumped the shelf they were on and everything starts slipping. I remember thinking that it was no big deal; the shelf would land on the one below it and some books would fall, but they were far to the right and not a danger to anyone. But then the fallen shelf knocked the one below it off, too, and a second later both were crashing to the floor, or, more accurately, my foot.
Nothing was broken, this time, and I only spent 45 minutes in the hospital getting an x-ray, as opposed to five hours when I broke my nose. But I’ve learned my lesson: on 20th August there will be no knitting, no discussion of knitting, no thinking about knitting, in fact I may just hide under my bed and hope to hell it doesn’t collapse on me.