Just to see if I can make you cringe...

I think I've discovered one of the most painful non-lethal injuries possible. Sure, I'm excluding a swift kick to the balls, as I've never experienced one (having no balls) so I can't say how this compares. Still, for a quickie, do-it-yourself way to cause pain, this does the trick. Just follow these easy steps!

1. Staple a stack of papers that is too thick for your Swingline stapler (sadly, not red) to handle. Staple them again, about 1 cm away from the first staple, in frustration.

2. Reach for your staple remover and attack the first staple. Here's the key: Leave it standing up on the page. Don't remove it and throw it away before attacking the second staple.

3. With that first staple standing, attack the second staple.

Voila! The first staple will go underneath the fingernail on the third digit of your right hand, piercing the skin underneath the nail and rendering you totally incapable of coherent speech void of profanity for at least 5 minutes.

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School = busy, blah blah blah. Wedding planning = sorta busy, blah blah blah. I did get to see my younger sister and my even younger stepsister recently; the former was all growed up (*tear*) and the latter has sprouted the hugest boobs EVER. Except maybe for mine, and that could be a stretch. Seriously, the girl is 5'2", maybe 110 lbs, and she's got D's. She is going to show us all up at the wedding. I may have to ask her to stand outside with a coat on or something, so no one can compare the, ah, rather larger bride to her 14-year-old hot stepsister. Watch out, guys. My stepdad's bringing his shotgun.

In sadder news, my grandmother was recently diagnosed with multiple myeloma. When my mom told me, all I could respond with was "Oh", over and over. When I got home, I looked it up in my Robbins & Cotran, and there it was, as poor a prognosis as I remembered. That was a bad night. Since then, all I've heard is that she'll be starting thalidomide, but I don't know which regimen. The thoughts are so conflicting. I'm upset, of course, and I wonder if she's scared. I wonder when she'll start chemo. I wonder if she knows that the 3-year survival rate is like 60% or something like that, and I wonder how she'll spend them. Selfishly, I wonder if she'll come to my wedding, but I know that may be impossible now. That makes me sad for multiple reasons; they were going to be the only grandparents at the wedding, I would love to see them on my special day, and if she's too sick to come then she is sick indeed. I wonder if people think I'm making too big a deal out of this; after all, she's 74, she's had a long, full life. I'm selfishly sad, because I want her here; and I'm sad for her, I wonder if she's ready, and I wonder how my grandfather will cope. He's a tough old guy, alright, but they've been married 52 years (almost 53). My Grandmommy has always held a special place in my heart, and while I'm glad (in a way) that I know I have time to tell her I love her, I can't imagine life without that sweet, soft lady, who taught me how to knit and sends me Maxine cards and photocopies recipes at the library and who always, always wears a sweater, because she's cold if it's 90 degrees outside. The same for my grandfather, who used to smoke a pipe (even now, the sweet scent of pipe smoke reminds me of Christmas Eve at their house) and who gardens like a fiend and who makes the best homemade hamburgers and ice cream EVER. I knew I'd eventually have to say goodbye, but I guess I thought I had more time.

Thank God I have the time left that I do. I can call and write and tell her--she won't die without knowing we love her, and we won't live thinking she didn't.