I remember once, in kindergarten, getting a paper cut. It hurt, but I thought, hey I’m the son of a doctor, this isn’t bad. Lung-cancer could be bad. Paper cuts heal.
But in picking up a research article on how Virtual Reality is supposed to cure anxiety disorders, and carrying it to my computer, I made a discovery. Paper cuts effing hurt. So badly, that my immediate post-slice thought was to change my Facebook status to “I got a paper cut. Life sucks.” They really sting. And then, I went to wash it off, and it was slightly on a knuckle, so it was in perfect position to open up every time I began to clench my fist. So I had to go wash it off again. But a drop of blood kept forming where the cut was so I had to find a band-aid, or risk my keyboard and shirt becoming permanently redder. And in a frantic search through the house I discovered that apparently nobody in my house has used a band-aid since they were five (I’m the youngest, and I haven’t been five for fifteen years), so my right middle finger now sports a beautiful rendition of Scooby and Shaggy, in what appears to be some starry LSD induced reverie.
I really was gonna try to start a blog that wasn’t just week after week of me complaining.
Sunday, February 22, 2009
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