My last day of work was two weeks ago. Can that be?? It doesn't feel like that long. Since then I have moved back home with my parents and my sister and my dog, Lucy. Until I go to India, I am essentially a handywoman for my parents. Next week I will repair our deck handrail, which is slowly but surely falling off. A piece of it came off in my hands the other day. It's really safe.

In addition, I am studying Hindi with a tutor twice a week who is a really good teacher and she's also very funny when she wants to be. "Just look at all those gnats. They come with the plants so who can I blame? ... No one but myself." Maybe you had to be there. It's all in the intonation.

I am also trying to read a lot of books on India. For now I have kind of given up on Bollywood movies because even though I enjoy them, I tend to fall asleep since I can't multitask and read the subtitles at the same time. (I fall asleep during at least part of 90% of the movies I watch at home.)

On the last day of work, I went out with a bang. Literally. I nailed my finger to a window jam with a finish nailer. I'm lucky it was only a brad nail because otherwise it could have been really ugly. But let me explain.

Steve asked me to finish nailing in the window stops because we had to adjust them because the wood had expanded and we couldn't open the window. I did the first one without a problem. Then on the second one, I must not have realized the angle of the gun or how close it was to my middle finger, because when I shot the nail through it went through the tip of my middle finger on my right hand and out the other side through my fingernail. My reaction was to yell out but apparently I sounded no different from how I normally do when I simply make a mistake or minorly injure myself. Steve asked if I was OK, thinking I was going to say "Yes" and go along with work. Instead, I said, "No, I nailed my finger." He said, "What? Do you need help? Does it hurt?" To which I replied, "No, surprisingly it doesn't hurt, but I need you to come over here and take it out before it really starts hurting a lot." So poor Steve had to come over and investigate the situation. I didn't even want to look at it. Marc, our construction manager came up to the front window and asked, "Is that you guys doing all that yelling?" We said, yes and briefly explained the situation. Then Mary and one of the plumbers who was working on the house that day (and thought we were volunteers only down for a week or two) came over and wanted to know if they could help. I said, "I'm starting to feel kind of dizzy." And my ears were ringing and slowly my head just started going towards the floor even though I was trying to hold it up. Steve responded, "Yeah, can one of you just stand behind her and make sure she doesn't fall of the ladder?" Did I mention I was on a ladder?

So Mary comes and stands behind me. Steve had managed to pry the nail away from the wall thinking I could just pull my finger off. But I wasn't even going to try to move my finger and for some reason I thought he was asking me to pull my finger off in a way that would have resulted in the tip of it ripping off, which I was unprepared to do. Then Marc had the idea of prying the window stop off of the jamb, which would pull the nail out of my finger at the same time. So poor poor Steve had to slowly and carefully pry the window stop off while I was about to pass out and, being ever so helpful, just kept saying, "ow.. OW!" until it was over.

He pulled it out and I managed to get down off the ladder and sit on the pile of sheetrock we have had piled in the front room since December. I didn't pass out and I didn't cry - two pluses. My general concerns the whole time were losing the tip of my finger or losing the feeling in my finger, which I was afraid would affect my ability to play the cello or any other instrument I want to learn. I definitely, definitely did not lose the feeling in my finger. For about a week it hurt every time my finger touched something - even if it was only a graze. To make matters worse, the puncture wound is on my right hand, which is my dominant hand. To make matters more worse, I had to pack and load my car that week and that was a horribly painful experience that I was about to give up on until Leo came out and helped me. (I really wouldn't have been able to fit everything in my car without him.) I also couldn't really type afterwards. Now it only hurts if I hit the tip of my finger against something. So far that only happens about twice a day.

The plumber commented, "You're a tough kid," which is really one of the best compliments I've gotten during my year. Since I'm generally described as "small" a lot of men I work with do not view me as tough or strong. So that was the second time a man has called me "a tough kid." The first time occurred when I was standing in a dumpster we were loading in Treme because these men kept insisting on helping me carry these heavy bags of trash in. They were trying to be polite and chivalrous but I needed to prove that I could do it on my own and so I just wouldn't let go of whatever bag I was holding and kept going. (The reason I was actually in the dumpster was because it costs $400 to drop a dumpster/get one replaced, so it's amazing the amount of money you can save when you just take the time to smush everything together.)

After I had cleaned up my finger and heard other horror stories about various puncture wounds, which I will not repeat here because they are far worse than mine, I said a long goodbye to our neighbor, Mr. Ed, whom I have had many long conversations with over the past several months. (I am convinced he is the reason none of our tools ever got stolen despite the numerous holes in the house.) Then we loaded the truck and left. So nailing my finger to the window jam was literally the last work I did before I left the house. For anyone wondering, Steve gave me the nail as a keepsake and he successfully nailed the window stop to the jam.

To finish this story, the next day I went to an urgent care clinic and had an xray, was put on an anti-biotic, and got a tetanus shot in my right arm - the same as the injured finger - which ultimately resulted in a swollen, painful knot. Later that day, I got stung by something on my right collarbone. I broke out in a rash in that area, but didn't really know what was going on until my aunt diagnosed me two days later as a sting and an allergic reaction - it would really be great to know what I'm allergic to but oh well. Also at my Aunt's house, I was trying to get a ladder out of her garage because we were painting her living room, when something fell on my right barefoot, punctured the top of it, and gave me a swollen bruise. (It was stupid of me not to be wearing shoes.) So, essentially by the weekend the right side of my body was a complete disaster.

There was nothing wrong with the left at all.