My morning was going quite well: Donuts for breakfast, good coffee in a French press, etc. Until The Incident.
I was minding my own business, shoveling the remaining snow off the edges of the driveway when all of a sudden, out of nowhere, my shovel turned on me. It beat me viciously with its handle until my face was left a twisted mess.
Well, not exactly. I was trying to chip chunks of ice loose from the concrete and I got the shovel blade wedged in a crack. I leaned on the handle, trying to use leverage to further crack the ice but my hand slipped and the bent plastic shovel handle acted just like a catapult and sprung back to whack me right in the cheekbone, just under the eye. And my face isn’t exactly a “twisted mess.” The only injury I can see is a slight puffiness under the eye and a rather nasty headache.
Or maybe I was subconsciously attempting suicide by bludgeoning myself to death with a snow removal implement. If so, my inner emo kid was very unsuccessful. And stupid.