Oww....

Someone remind me not to play with the matches while lighting candles. This is the second time in a week that I've burnt my finger and threw part of a burning match down on the floor. At this point I'm lucky I've only been singed and my apartment is still standing.
I've had several moral dilemmas lately. A former friendship has fallen apart, to the point she never called me back to give me her address so I could send her a wedding invitation, and I called twice. So basically I figured it was all over, cut my losses and move on. Then a mutual friend called to tell me that her father had died unexpectedly. I felt like I should do something, but why should I? If she wanted me to know, she could have called to tell me. But I did the adult thing and sent a card. But, barring another death in her family or her contacting me, this is the end. I made the last contact and tried to be a real, live adult. And now, here I am, facing another situation. There was a guy who liked me this past spring. We fooled around a bit but were never more than friends, but he took it badly when that reality hit him. And so he cried, twice, which led to the nickname the crying cowboy. He was a jerk to me when I tried to make things better with him, so I said screw it and forgot about him. Apparently the twig has been riding in rodeos and there was an accident and a bull stepped on him. He's in the hospital with a punctured lung and some broken ribs. Once again, a mutual friend filled me in. So now I'm contemplating making cookies for him. Am I too nice or a glutton for punishment? No, I'm just an adult whose parents taught her well. Except, apparently, not to play with matches.