This past Tuesday, the first day of autumn, I fractured the fifth metacarpal in my hand by punching the counter. It wasn’t the smartest thing I’ve ever done. It wasn’t the dumbest either, if you can believe that. On Friday I had surgery to set the bone and insert two (or possibly three, the surgeon didn’t specify and I can’t see my hand yet) pins/wires to hold the finger straight. Since then I’ve had to explain what happened and why more times than I can remember. I figure if it’s that interesting, I should probably write about it. I’ll apologise in advance for the bad flow, sentence structure, and word choice/use ahead of time—I’m on some pretty serious pain killers, guys.