It's not a toom-uh.

My hand? Hurts. Let me tell you why.

Last night, I was sitting on my couch watching the extras on my new Lost DVD when the back of my knee started to hurt (I realize that earlier I said hand - just stay with me). It wasn't a bruise kind of hurt or a cut kind of hurt or a pulled muscle kind of hurt. It was a weird pinchy kind of hurt. I tried to ignore it. I focused all of my energy on Matthew Fox. It wasn't working. I got up and played around on my computer. It was still there. It had that feeling that you get after you've given blood and your sleeve rubs up against your arm. It doesn't exactly hurt, but the skin feels all sensitive and weird. That was the same sensation behind my knee. Therefore, my natural conclusion was that I had a blood clot and was going to die. This is generally how it works when something on my body malfunctions in any way. I think of the worst possible scenario and assume death. Bruised finger? It's infected and I'm going to die. Headache? It's a brain tumor and I'm going to die. Gassy? It's colon cancer and I'm going to die.

In an attempt to assuage my fears, I tried to take a good look at the area in question. The only problem was, it was the back of my knee, and after attempting a bit of complicated gymnastics, I still couldn't see it very well. I made the brilliant decision to climb up on the bathroom counter to take a good look at it. The lighting was best there, and this way, I could compare the diseased knee with my normal, healthy, non-toxic knee. It's high up there on the bathroom counter, by the way, in case you were curious. I did some careful comparisons and couldn't come up with anything. No bruises, no redness, no vein popping out of my leg. Nada.

Of course, I wasn't dissuaded - I still thought that I must have a blood clot and that any strange movement would catapult it from my leg directly to my lungs, and I'd stop breathing and die, right there on the floor where I'd lie for days while my cat nibbled on my toes and fingers. Because of this I decided, instead of jumping off the counter as I usually would have done (because I stand on my bathroom counter so often), to step gently on the toilet, steadying myself with the towel bar, so as to lower myself to the floor without putting any unnecessary pressure on my Clotted Leg of Doom. Only problem was, in doing so the towel bar proceeded to bend at my weight and flew out of the wall; I toppled off of the bathroom counter and hit my hand between the knuckles of my ring and pinky finger on what I assume was the metal piece now hanging from the wall.

This morning, my hand was raw and swollen from where it hit. My leg pain? Non-existent.