The Danger of Brushing Your Hair

I’ve got a lot of hair, this surprises no one. It’s long and it’s curly, which usually means an intense amount of tangles. I have it down to a science on how to care for this unruly mop.

Most specifically, I brush it out, thoroughly, morning and night.

Think of how many times I’ve actually done this; brushed my hair. 365 days a year, twice each day. Let’s say I was 10 when my mother stopped telling me to brush my hair (I have no idea, I’m just throwing that out there) which makes 22 years+.

22years * 365 days = 8,030 days *2 times a day = 16,060 times I’ve brushed my hair, at a minimum.

That is an awful lot of hair brushing, we can all agree, right? One would also have to assume that brushing that much would also mean that I am pretty good at it, right? Of course.

So, what’s the problem?

The problem is that after 16,000 times brushing my hair, last night, while doing the thing I’ve done more than sixteen thousand times before (why does it seem like so much more when you spell it out?) I somehow managed to pull a muscle in my back. WHILE BRUSHING MY HAIR.

How embarrassing! The muscle is between my shoulder blades and the pain radiates upward into my neck. Which, naturally, makes me move like a robotic zombie today. I’m extremely uncomfortable and very stiff. People keep asking me, “what happened?” and I politely respond, “I pulled a muscle”. Some kinder folks are letting it go at that, but most people will then ask, “how?”

“Um, brushing my hair.”

I sound like an idiot. I clearly need to make up a better story for this. But, really, how on earth does that happen? Who pulls a muscle while brushing their HAIR?!?!?

I need a keeper.


I don’t know what’s going on but I’m in this weird phase where I cut myself every day.

No, not like that.

But, on Friday, I was opening a 12-pack and placing beer in my fridge. I moved a bottle and blood dripped down the side. What the–? I looked, my left thumb was bleeding profusely. I don’t even know how I cut it.

I bandaged it up and it really, really, hurt. But I managed to move on.

Saturday, I took the bandage off and looked at it, it was all bruised and purple. I figured it needed a little air. I let it breathe. Then, I bumped it. My thumb screamed with pain and started gushing blood again.


On Sunday night, I gritted my teeth and took a hard look at it. Turns out, there was a microscopic piece of glass in my thumb. I had to pick it out with a tweezers. I don’t know if you’ve ever tried to remove a microscopic piece of blood-coated glass from a finger before, but it ain’t fun. I finally got it out. Today is Wednesday and my thumb is still sore. And I still have no idea how this happened.

Then, Monday, I was refilling our oversize stapler. The big one that can go through a hundred pages at a time. I don’t know what I did wrong, but I somehow stapled my left index finger. (Saw that coming, didn’t ya?) It didn’t go through my finger, like you’d think, my finger was sideways and the staple ripped the skin off, creating a scratch.


Tuesday, aka yesterday, my day went better. I opened boxes of books for three hours and only ended up with three paper cuts. One on my right thumb, one on my right pinkie, and the last on my left index finger (same finger as the stapler incident).

That is five consecutive days that I’ve cut myself to bleeding and needing a bandage. And Wednesday is only half done, imagine all the damage I could still do.

Seriously, my hands hurt. They actually ache from all the abuse they’ve suffered. The best news is, I’ve only got ten more boxes of books to unpack. I’ll try not to lose a digit.