I Guess That's Why They Call It The "Zone"

Yesterday, I was about to pull the glove onto my right hand when I noticed little red splotches, like paint, all over my palm. I was on my way over to get a fabulous manicure from Jen and see the surrogate nephew for the last time before my trip home to California for the holidays when I spotted the, erm, spots. Because I couldn't wrap my head around what possibly could have caused it, I decided not to worry about it.

About a half hour later at Jen's, she instructed me to wash my hands in preparation for my mani (which she would be administering! What an amazing gift, eh? A friend doing you a luxury service. I love it). When I looked at my splattered hand, I noticed that there were more spatters and smears near my ring and middle fingers. It was clearly blood and upon closer inspection, it was coming from a scrape near my ring fingernail.



So, I wagered I had scraped a little bit of skin off my finger within the past hour, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how. I washed my hands and got on with my day.

Then, this evening, I picked up my banjo to practice my songs in preparation for a recording session I'm doing with my brother in California next week (squeeeee!) and I noticed...



... red splatters. Almost like paint. Wow. I had been practicing so hard yesterday, I did not notice that I was lightly bloodying up my finger. Sometimes playing hurts, but you push through it and get your practice done! It's a little injury, but I love that I have this evidence that I literally bled over getting my work done. And now I have an awesome blood splatter stain on Ernie to prove it. Which also leads me to point out Ernie's worn out spot from where my hand hits during claw hammering, and the dirt that has been ground into the drum. And he's less than a year old. Awesome.