On the freezer.

I suppose I could be called clumsy at times (odd thing to say about a former trapeze artist, but true).  I've had my fair share of stupid injuries (bicycle crashes, sprained ankles, the usual bumps and bruises), but I've topped myself this time.

Right now, as I live and breathe, I have a small blister on my left thumb.  And how did I come upon this blister, you may ask?  Why sheer stupidity, dear reader.  Two evenings ago, I went to refill my trusty purple water cup with ice.  Now, let it be known that the ice maker has its ups and downs, and one of the major downs is that it doesn't dispense ice through the door of the freezer as it should.  The reality of life dictates that this doesn't get fixed because who has time to stay home and take a day off of work just to have the ice dispenser fixed?  Not I.

So, as I reach into the "hopper" to get some ice, for some unknown reason, I hit my hand on the top of the gizmo.  I quickly pulled it away as I realized, "Ouch!  That burns!"  I continued on with my ice filling not thinking much about it until I went upstairs and it started to burn more.  I mentioned my ice party to the love of my life who informed me that hot water ran through the ice maker.  Does this make sense to you?  It didn't make sense to me, but true it is shown by this stupid blister. 

Note to self: Do not put hand on the underbelly of the ice maker.

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Add your own preposition up there.  Or don't.  It may all still apply here.

This, my friends, is my first blog entry.  It may not be all that stunning to you, but it's a step that I've been putting off, so it is stunning for me.  So there, I'm breaking (in) to blogging.  I'm breaking (out) of my concealed corner of the world.  I'm breaking (off) the relationship with my reclusive and quite evil twin.  I'm breaking (down) the walls between what I believe sometimes and common sense.  And hopefully, all these things will lead me to not breaking (up) with my current beau.

At 20 till 4 on Tuesday, October 17, 2006, I realized that they weren't kidding when they said that all the best things in life are free.  Love, one of those best things in life, is indeed free.  (Ladies of the night do not love, they just work.)  BUT, even free comes with a pricetag.  Love doesn't want your money whether it be coin, bill, or plastic.  Oh no.  Love only accepts hearts, tears, and an occasional flower.  Love is a fickle bitch that flirts with some never to be caught and lands so hard on others that it nearly crushes them.  She comes and goes, but sometimes, when she goes, she leaves a little bit of herself in each of us.  That little bit is what keeps moms and dads, boyfriends and girlfriends, moms and moms, dads and dads (you get the point) together.

If you're lucky enough to have been left that little scrap of love, hold on to it because you never know when Love might make it back to your side of town.

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