Mashed hand

I am not a brain surgeon or a rocket scientist, but I have joked in the past that I have surgeon’s hands, just a lower salary and a lot less smarts. I only have my hands for work and life, and I try to vary activities so I don’t get some nasty repetitive motion problem, I also don’t snowboard or parachute out of airplanes. As a matter of fact, I exercise, take vitamins, all the rest.
So, Monday I was at a raunchy and awful biker bar with my wife and a 300 lb. redeneck named Bubba insulted my wife’s honor AND the purple color of our house. I took him out back, and let me tell you, I may be all of 145 pounds, less than half of Bubba, but I worked him over good and....
Well actually, it happened like this. I got a call, after my dreams of hockey the other day, to suit up and play left wing (never right wing!) for my neighbor’s semi-pro youth hockey team, and when that 225 lb. defender got mad over my 7th goal and tried to deck me, I pulled off the gloves and helmet and gave him not one but TWO black eyes, and let’s just say that he can’t chew gum anymore.....
No, no, those are not the real story. But I whacked my left hand, and HOLY CARP it hurts, on the railing as as I was loading up for a garbage run to the dump. Totally not glorious or glamorous. Everything moves in my hand, thank gawd, but it has swollen up like a son of a gun and hurts worse. Ibuprofen helps, as does letting it rest. Peeling a banana is agony, driving worse, so--no exercise, no pots, no cleaning the bathroom and no blogging. Actually, I have to clean the house, right handed I guess, obviously I can BLOG, and as for clay, I may see how it goes later. Sheesh.