All Banged Up

I have gone back to work part‑time in the nursery section of a big‑box retailer. Like most things in life, it sounded like a good idea at the time, but I am beginning to have doubts — not the least of which is that, no matter how I try to justify it, nursery work is still work. And work, as it turns out, goes against the nature of retirement, which is non‑work — especially in the context of a big‑box retailer with forty thousand products.

I haven’t figured out retirement yet, and so I have filled my week with commitments that require me to be at a certain place at a certain time for a certain reason. It’s this “certainness” that rubs me the wrong way, even if the place happens to be a dance studio for tap lessons. That sounds harmless enough — dare I say joyful? — but I have managed to complicate even that (see my previous three posts ending with some form of “no” in their titles). No need to elaborate there.

All of this is just to tell you that, as I was sweeping two dead rats out from underneath a heavy grating at work, the grate fell and smashed my pinky finger. I was wearing work gloves and so hoped the injury wouldn’t be too severe. It wasn’t: just two cuts, a swollen, bruised area around the knuckle, and a discolored nail which—luckily—decided not to fall off. I quickly went to one of the overhead hoses stationed throughout the nursery and washed my hand. The cold water eased the pain and kept the swelling down.

Two days later, I opened a locked area to retrieve a power hedge trimmer and caught my other pinky on the heavy metal gate, causing the tip to bleed. I went to the restroom for the same cold‑water treatment. This time, the injury was less severe but bled more. I ended up wrapping it in a paper towel and went about my business, which thankfully included no more accidents.

But then, the following week, I went to a firing range to practice with my pistol and shotgun. After finishing the first magazine of ten rounds, the slide on my pistol cycled back and struck my thumb, which I had placed too high—the fault, dear Brutus, lying not in the stars but in myself. The slide carved a gash in my thumb, which instantly bled all over my hand. I stood there in the lane, pulled my shirt out, and wrapped my thumb in the hem until the bleeding finally subsided. Some licking was involved, along with furtive glances to make sure no one noticed.

At this point, you have to wonder what in God’s name is going on with me. I’ve noticed before that accidents like these tend to occur in clusters, and the fact that I now have matching finger injuries seems to prove the point (see What the Hell?). Of course, the injuries could be due to distraction, loss of focus, insufficient precaution, or any number of coincidences. But I suspect that getting banged up — as I like to call it — represents the physical manifestation of a deeper hurt. I won’t go so far as to call that hurt a psychic wound, but repression in one area can suddenly surface in other, more obvious ways.

Sometimes accidents arise from a struggle or a stirring of something in the unconscious. I noticed, for instance, that my firing was off: I kept pulling my shots down and to the left of the target. That may be a common mistake, but I couldn’t help thinking of the classic definition of sin as being “off the mark.” In Ancient Greek, this was hamartanō — to shoot and miss. To my mind, that lends greater significance to Frank Sinatra’s remark that Tony Bennett was the best singer he had ever heard, precisely because of Bennett’s ability to hit the middle of the note.

Lately, it seems I’ve been missing the middle of the note — resulting not only in the effects of sin (cuts, bruises, blood, missing the target) but in honest recognition of the need to reevaluate retirement. My body and psyche may be telling me that if I keep things up at this pace, I’ll have more than falling grates and dead rats to contend with.

I should probably listen.

Image credits: Mahdi Bafande. Want more? Click on “Amazon” for other publications or go to Robert Brancatelli. Visit other blog readers under “Who You Are.” Comment by clicking on “Leave a Reply” below, or contact us through the Contact tab above. Happy birthday, Little Lena!