Moving into the new house

So we are officially moving tomorrow, Friday morning. Earlier tonight (Thursday), I went to the new house to unpack some of the boxes that Austin moved over yesterday and put in the
storage shed.

I read a book where is was apparently a custom in medieval times to perform a sacrifice and place the body under the hearthstone. Horrible, right? Well, times have changed but I still found a was to give a blood sacrifice.

As I was carrying a stack of dinner plates from the storage shed into the house, I tripped and fell to the concrete outside the shed, landing on top of the plates, which, of course, shattered into a zillion pieces and cut my hand in 4 places. So I panic, and run into the house and try to wash my hand, which is gushing blood, so I call Austin, who is at home putting Amelia to bed, and manage to tell him that I cut myself badly. He's trying to calm me down and figure out how bad I'm hurt. I run to our future bedroom, open a box, and wrap a tshirt around my hand.

I stumble over to the neighbors, and awkwardly introduce myself and ask if they will call security and notify them what happened, because if they drive past an empty house at night, with every light on, see shattered plates outside the door and blood everywhere, they will probably panic. The neighbor wants to take me to the hospital, but I really want to drive myself because I don't want to leave my car there.

So I drive myself to a nearby hospital emergency room. The doctors decide not to do stitches, saying that steri-strips will heal faster and don't involve needles. 10 steri-strips, 3 gauze pads, 1 roll of tape, 1 ruined tshirt, 1 dead cell phone battery and 3 hours later, I'm released, with 2 small cuts and 2 deep, 3/4" cuts. It's so gross. I can't wait to post pictures in a few days when I can take the bandage off!