Sometimes we all have those weeks where things don't seem to go all that well.

While I feel like I've had my share, I recently faced another rash of dealing with my own random acts of blatant stupidity.

So far, I've burned my arm on the wood stove, cut my hand while discarding some broken glass and dropped a good-sized piece of firewood on my foot. And the week isn't over yet.

With the warm winter we've been having, I have accumulated quite an impressive collection of firewood at the house. I have six large stacks placed between trees on my property and one smaller stack in a rack on the front porch.

It's a good thing I got most of it in now, since I recently sawed the face plate on my cell phone while cutting the last load of firewood I hauled in. While that sounds bad, it's worse when I admit that the phone was in my pocket at the time. I've had at least four near- misses with a chainsaw in recent years. Just one more example of my own carelessness.

As I was carrying in some wood the other morning in my bedroom shoes, which I often wear while walking around in the house, I dropped a medium-sized stick of wood on top of my foot. After hopping about on one foot for a few moments and tripping over the piece of wood I dropped, I quietly gathered up my bundle of firewood and slipped back into the house. I usually prefer a small amount of pain to a large amount of embarrassment, but sadly things didn't work out well for me this time. I got the double dose.

After walking inside and placing the wood beside the stove, I checked my foot, which only suffered a small bruise despite what felt like a multiple fracture at the time. Perhaps I should invest in steel-toed bedroom shoes, I thought.

As I was loading the wood in the stove, I decided I hadn't suffered enough. Perhaps I was distracted by the pain in my foot, but more than likely I was just careless. So, as I finished loading up the stove, I decided to brand myself.

Up until that point, I had also avoided burning myself thus far this year, a mark that is a little unusual for me. I generally get burned at least four or five times a season on my hands and arms. while loading the stove or even while trying to get something out of the oven.

Last year I let the hot oven door shut on my arm while I was retrieving a frozen pizza and suffered a nice burn on my arm.

This time I was feeding wood into the stove and preparing to shut the stove door when I touched the door fastener on the inside of the door. Of course, it was red hot and immediately branded my wrist with a nice flat line. Luckily, it was on my right arm, so I can still wear my watch on the other. I'd be lost if I couldn't wear my watch.

People who are often running last minute need watches worse than those who are generally on time. If you leave the house with 30 minutes to spare, it really doesn't matter what time it is until you get where you're going.

However, if you are like me and end up running places at the last minute, it's crucial to know exactly what time it is.

As for the burn, I immediately ran to the kitchen and broke off a piece of aloe and applied it to the burn. I've found that immediate application of aloe does more for a burn than any other treatment I've found. I usually cut the plant open after squeezing out the juice on the burn and lay it on the wound like a bandage until it somewhat dries out. Smaller burns sometime go away entirely with aloe with very little skin damage, more serious burns are another story.

While I still have an angry looking burn on my wrist, I'm sure it could have been worse. Most of the damage is contained to the actual area of contact, which tells me that some of the more minor injury was alleviated.

Anyway, after that, I decided to go to the dump and haul away a few things that I had been storing that were no longer useable. I've found that the longer I store things, the more likely they are to get broken. For instance, I had a couple of storm windows behind the house for a good while that I had planned to install in my building. However, a recent wind storm destroyed one and damaged the other. They joined some pieces of warped wood, broken cups and flower pots and general refuse in my load of things to haul to the dump.

Even though I knew the glass was dangerous, I still failed to put on a pair of gloves as I removed it from the frame of the one window I hoped to save. Of course, I made a nice slice across the back of my hand.

Later in the day, I was going to fix a plug end on a sewing machine and thought better of it. All I really needed to round out the day was an electrocution.

So I instead opted to clean up the boards that I had saved from fixing the back porch. Actually, the lumber was salvaged from the porch that was demolished and just hadn't been neatly stacked up as I would have liked it to be.

Even though it was covered in rusty nails, I managed to avoid piercing my hands or feet. I had a tetanus shot last year after such an incident.

I wonder if I am the only one who does things like this? Although I often see the proverbial snake that ends up biting me, it's like I'm compelled by some powerful force of stupidity to stick my hand in its mouth. But there is good to be found in all things, I've been told. Working through injuries and 'getting back on the horse' teaches us to be tougher and more resolute.

Pain is supposed to be one of the best teachers of mankind, but I must be a slow learner. Such simple protective measures as helmets, work gloves, steel-toed bedroom shoes and over-sized ovenmits likely would have prevented all of my recent injuries.

Then again, where's the fun in that. Besides, if I started wearing gloves and being sensible and cautious, what would I have to write about this week? Sure, I'd have fewer scars and less pain in life, but I wasn't planning on being a hand model anyway.

In addition, maybe I am a good example for others of things that they shouldn't do themselves. After reading this, perhaps all of you will wear gloves when handling broken glass and hot stoves. And if you don't, perhaps you can let me know so I can feel better about my own stupidity. Misery loves company, or so I've heard.

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