The Moral Is, Drink Your Milk Like A Good Kid.

For reasons unknown, I have this gift for injuring myself. Namely breaking bones. Maybe it's because I don't get enough calcium, maybe I just have genetically low bone density - or maybe I'm just really great at failing at life at exactly the wrong moments.

Anyway, our intramural soccer team had a game this week, and neither of our two goalies showed up, so guess who had to play goal? Yup - me. Not a huge deal, because I used to play goalie all the time, I just generally prefer playing the field - it's just more exciting. The halves in our league are only twenty minutes long, which is obscenely short, but since only five of our teammates showed up to play it felt like an hour. After it became apparent that we weren't going to be winning (or even coming close), Patrick (our team captain) decided that we would be using goalie as the 'break' position.

Doesn't matter, because even in the grand total of twenty minutes that I played, I managed to injure myself. (I know my family won't be surprised by this. At all.) I'm not in great shape (read as: ridiculously slow) so I have to play a preemptive style of goalie - RUN AT WHOEVER IS COMING AT ME WITH FULL FORCE before they can kick it. Sometimes I get to the ball, sometimes I don't, but about eighty percent of the time it ends in both of us hitting the ground none-too-gracefully. But having not played goalie in a long time, I forgot that these full-body tackles usually work better if you don't flail your limbs in random directions.

Yeah. That happened.

I stopped him scoring, ended up hitting this guy (built like a freight train, might I add) full force with my left arm stretched out retardedly, forcing my last two fingers back further than I'm sure they were ever supposed to go and also bending my elbow wrong, but I don't think the elbow's seriously injured. However, the black-and blue state of my hand (and my vast experience with broken bones and pain) suggests that it is broken in at least one place (pinky knuckle) and perhaps one or two more.

Cue face-palm.

I'm used to having broken fingers, so it hasn't been bothering me too much, except for I keep forgetting it's broken and doing dumb things like trying to open doors with it or using it as a brace to push myself out of bed. Or typing (which hurts, so I'm trying to compensate with other fingers). Or, for example, accidentally dropping my phone down behind Emily's bed and making a dive for it - left-handed - and smashing it against the wall.

Sometimes I hate my life.

UPDATE: I went to have my hand x-rayed yesterday, and ended up with this guy: