My Tired Fingers

My tired fingers feel as though an arabian knight with cruel intentions plucked seven sharpened harpoons from his desk drawer and plunged them deep into the tips of my unexpecting phalanges, or metacarpals, or whatever the scientific term for fingers is. The fact is that I was gong to be clever and use a 'fingers' synonym rather then the word that would've come naturally to a mere human, but my cleverness died off half way through the sentence, and my eyebrows drooped and the corners of my mouth sagged and I was robbed of creativity. I was left with a dull, twelve-year-old-boy-doing-playstation type of a sentence that any parent who knows their place would roll their eyes at. And then do something equally non-productive in the next room over.