Today, I am my own man.

What this means is that I recently quit my job during one of the worst economic crises ever, and last Friday was my last day at work. So today is my first full day in my own private practice office.

Obviously, I hate money. And stability. And wearing a name badge. And having insurance. And a retirement plan. And a semblance of security. And the sweet knowledge that I will see a paycheck with any level of consistency.

BUT, do you wanna know what I did this afternoon during lunch?  I slept on my couch.

When people aren’t spilling their guts here, I’m taking a snooze.
 (Photo taken on my friend Wendel’s cell phone. Wendel is a photographer. He wants you to know this is NOT representative of his work.)

Pretty even trade-off, right?

I knew you wouldn’t care enough to comment to the contrary would agree.

In other news, I had a tragedy occur this weekend.

We were at a barbecue with some friends, and they got out the fire-pit so we could make S’mores (or Sh’mores, as the hostess, Korrin, calls them, which I think really fits), and everything was going great. It was delicious, and we made regular S’mores as well as these fancy French ones with tortillas and Nutella, and I was doing the thing where you’ve eaten the crispy part of a roasted marshmallow and then you roast the soft, delicious inside and get another layer of crispy deliciousness, but do you remember how I have a blind eye? What that means is that I don’t have depth perception. So it’s a little hard for me to tell whether my marshmallow is so far away from the flames that it’s still room temperature, or too close and soon to be engulfed in three foot flames. I was sitting there talking and someone was like “Josh, your marshmallow’s on fire” and instead of just letting the marshmallow go the way of the world like any other sane person, I decided to pull the stick out of the fire and blow the flames out.

And then, the tragedy struck.

A droplet of magma-like burnt marshmallow fell onto my thumb. And it hurt. A lot.

Thankfully, my friend JT (whose wife, Katie, blogs here) was there, and he’s an emergency room technician. I asked him if I needed to call 911 and he looked at me calmly and said “No. If you went in, you would be mocked. You are the type of patient we go into the halls make fun of in the ER. You got burned by a marshmallow. It’s almost as funny as the people who get strange objects stuck in their colon.”  Comfortingly, he reported that they are no longer allowed to take pictures of patients’ lame and hilarious and gross injuries with their cell phones. 

Speaking of pictures, here’s my injury.

No, that is not a large maggot. It is, in fact, a blister.

Yeah, you probably thought it was just some wussy little burn. Little did you know that that marshmallow gave me a bona fide SECOND DEGREE BURN with resultant blister (which popped unceremoniously today at the gym and I couldn’t see where all the juice went. Sorry next guy who used my treadmill!)

Take away lessons:

1. napping during the day without shame is better than all the money in the world.*

2. marshmallows are terrifying and brutal.

*This is false