Veni, Vidi, Ventus --
The randomly chaotic and crafty scribblings of a deranged, wannabe artist allowed too many colours in her Crayon box.

Surgeon General's Warning: Some content of "From Pooka's Crayon" may not be suitable for: work, blue-haired little old ladies, the politically-correct, rabid moonbats, uptight mothers, priests, chronic idiots, insurance claims agents, Democrats, children, small furry quadropeds from Alpha Centauri, or your sanity.

Thursday, July 15, 2004

Public Service Announcement

If you live in Texas, especially N. Texas, do NOT go outside onto concrete today without your shoes on.

You guys know I hate wearing shoes. I'd rather be barefoot. Do most of my gardening that way.

In the short time it took for me to harvest the cayennes ... I have FIRST DEGREE BURNS on the bottoms of my feet. Yes, I knew it was hurting at the time, but there wasn't that much to do, so I toughed it out. I have very tough feet and a massively high level of pain tolerance down there (unless it's cold they're touching), so I figured it would be all right. Bad call.

20 minutes later, my feet are still scarlet, a little puffy, and HURT. BAD. DG asked me to go look at something, and I almost shrieked when my feet hit the floor. I 'ow ow ow'd most of the way anyway. When you consider that I'm usually not very vocal about pain, that should say a lot.

I *burned* my feet.


Update: I *seriously* burned my feet. They are amazingly swollen, hotter'n'hell, creasing up through the scarlet -- they look BAD. If they haven't improved by tomorrow, it's a doctor trip. Oh yes, and blistering nicely.

Yeah. *That* bad. For me to willingly go to the doctor, who I haven't seen since last September ... Yeah.

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