Once upon a time I moved into a slightly ghetto but still amazing apartmebnt. At some point in the moving process I decided to remove the front closet's door. . . by myself.
Naturally, I ended up inside the closet, trying to support the weight f both doors without losing any major body parts or toes. I macgyver'd my way out [eventually] but couldn't fight the feeling that I had a better understanding of R. Kelly, due to our shared closet trauma.
There are lessons to be learned from this, but I'm apparently a bad student. Tonight I learned that metal is probably always stronger than any part of my body, especially my [non-cow milking] fingers. I was fortunately able to stop and reverse my drill in time to save my precious digits, but they're all going to need a little therapy [especially point, he's prone to ptsd].
So, my friends, do be careful. Closets are dangerous, and no one needs to relive those 22 chapters or torturous insanity.
Safety never takes a vacation.
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