While I've got time between my broadcast producing class (the pinnacle of boredom and self-loathing), and my NEXT doctor's appointment, I figure I've got some good time to complain. Not that you'd expect anything different from this space.

After coming down with the FLU FROM HELL a couple of weeks ago -- which may I remind you, is still lingering -- and watching my computer and all of my files die in front of my eyes, I found time to land back in the hospital. This time with a two-inch gash on my pinky finger.

Okay, that makes THREE bad things that happened to me in two weeks. Three. And these aren't minor, run of the mill events either, let me assure you. A debilitating flu, a home-wrecking computer crash and a down-to-the bone disgusting, pain-in-the-ass gash on my finger. At least I'm not in Iraq.

That should be it, right? Isn't there something called the rule of threes to save me here? I shouldn't have to expect any more bad luck for awhile, correct? Please tell me I'm right here.

Well, let's get right to it, then, with the finger. So I've got all day Friday to head up to school to work on the computers up there (since mine is dead, of course). Sounds fine. No class -- nothing else to do aside from a few loads of laundry, but that's easily accomplishable in no more than 3 hours.

I wake up at 8, shower and get right to it. Boom. Laundry done by noon. Perfect. Now I've got all afternoon to begin work on my 3500-word masterpiece due on Tuesday, the day before I take off for Minneapolis via the great Northwestern Airlines. But, per protocal, there's a hitch in the plan. I hustle out of my apartment to catch the bus headed towards Evanston. I see it - it's leaving. Shit. I run a little in an attempt to catch the bus. If I miss this one, I'll be waiting for another 20 minutes for the next.
I've GOT to catch this bus.

Holding my bag in my right hand, I'm running accross a brick walkway. I stumble a bit on an exhumed brick and take a nasty dive - face first towards the brick ground. My bag goes flying, my hands extend to catch my weight... and my pinky finger jams between two bricks. Blood everywhere. I can't tell the severity of the wound because of the amount of blood covering my hand. Oh, by the way --- there goes the bus. In pain, I raised my left arm and waved. Bye bye.

After examining the cut a little further through all the blood, I decide I had better go back into my apartment and clean this thing up. I run my hand under running water to flush all of the blood away. The blood clears. I see bone. A hot sweat gathers over my head and I begin breathing heavily. I hate the sight of my own blood, but I can handle it. I can't handle the sight of my finger bones.

I panic a bit. I know that after looking at the size of the gash and the depth that I need to get to the hospital. Dammit. I haphazardly wrap my fingers (two are bleeding) in a roll of toilet paper and head out to take my car to the hospital. I ended up downtown at Northwestern Memorial, and head to the emergency room.

A nurse chides me for my shitty handling of dressing the wound and hooks me up with some gauze and tape. "You'll definitely need stitches, young man." I know, I know...

So after three hours of sitting in the waiting line, I finally get called and get 6 stitches --- from top knuckle past the middle knuckle and I'm told I'll have to have them for 14 days. Great.

So, now I'm off to have them looked at. Can't wait to see my finger again. Hopefully they've got smelling salts ready to go.

Also, to fiancee --- Happy V-Day. See you in two days.