Day 3 of a New Year. Served a Turkey Sandwich on a Butter Dish and Now Have a Knob on My Head Thanks to a Hampton Bay Pull-Chord Disaster

I wish there was more blood. When I got up, I wanted to go to the emergency room because I knocked myself out with the Hampton Bay pull-chord on the ceiling fan in my bedroom. Truth is, I slept wonderfully on Monday night, so much that I messed my sheets up bad. So, I wanted to shake them as I made my bed in the morning. When I shook my bedspread, however, the physical wave I made added such force that it whacked the ceiling fan chord really hard, causing it to break and fling the "Hampton Bay" knobs off the metal branch directly into my noggin'. It was such a fast, hard hit that it knocked me to the ground. 

Funnier, probably, was me trying to untangle the chord on the ceiling fan from a step ladder on my bed afterwards (as I have vaulted ceilings)(probably not the best idea). 

I live a Jerry Lewis movie.

Class went wonderful and Chitunga made his way back to Des Moines, Iowa, safely after a long weekend with Sue and Dave (and a great night with Lys at the Galt House)(as Sue says, "He's such a romantic.")

Then, while prepping a fast dinner before class, I got a plate out of the cabinet. When I sat down to teach class, though,  with my dinner of turkey, cheese, and wheat bread, I noticed I put the sandwich on the butter-dish and not the plate. I ate the sandwich anyway. 

Funny how we can think we can turn a new corner just because it's a new year, only to find out that it will likely be the same ol,' same ol,' because I am who I am and it is what it always shall be this way.

Actually, it's the back to University world that always has my brain twisted in a million and one directions. Yesterday was the 2nd of January which means many, many people have returned and are back to their emails, needs, requests, demands, and desire to set up meetings. 

Um, I'm teaching (and loving it as I always do). Your emails have to wait.

But now, waking up, I'm thinking about doing coffee in a shot glass. I feel like a Bugs Bunny cartoon where the anvil fell from the sky and knocked my character out.

"It's a concussion," I hear them saying, "but tell us again how you got that bump on your head?"

"Well, I was making my bed." 

Here's to no concussion. Just a bump on my head, my storytelling, and this morning's post.