Picture This Life

The other day I stubbed my toe on the corner of the bed. I heard the crunch and felt the dull thud a split second before I felt the pain. Being directly connected to my brain, my brain actually had time to consciously think ‘that’s really going to hurt’ in the time it look the pain in my foot, which was six feet away from my brain, to transmit the flaming rods of molten lightening through my nerve endings.

I bet you’ve experienced somewhat of a similar delay.

On a related but slightly different note, I recently learned that smashing the tip of a finger in ones boss’ office door creates a number of very different sensations than stubbing a toe. First off, the sound is different. A toe stubbing is hollow whereas a finger smashing sounds more tinny, like cymbals clashing, or better yet, like the door and frame are laughing. Secondly, the pain is immediate and intense, and just as it should start to taper, it instead continues to escalate. Third, finger smashing makes involuntary tears flow, despite the presence of the  aforementioned office inhabiting boss. Fourth, roughly 180 seconds after the event an overwhelming wave of nausea flows menacingly over the victim. And finally fifth, unlike a toe which relents its throbbing within a few minutes, a smashed finger will continue to pulsate like the red nose of a certain claymation Rudolph, throughout the night.

And as I laid there at 2:30 in the morning, finger hurting like crazy, staring at the ceiling, the youthful scolding of my dear, wise mother echoed over and over again in my nerve-tweaked mind as she lectured, “Boys! Don’t play with doors!”

That was really good advice, mom.