putting the car back in gear (non-literally)
Thesis is over, so now I can confidently say that I will get this shit started again. Life event summary (large-scale): I got a Fulbright to teach english in Hong Kong, I had a birthday and am still not accustomed to reporting my age as 22, I ate a lot of pho and was happy.
I'm hoping to do less chronicling of the crap that I do (those of you who took yamashita's seminar with me last spring likely share my distaste for the chronicle) and more of the opinions about things. This would be the putting into practice of Why I took that Creative Writing Class in the First Place: I want to be able to write well about things I find interesting/important and then have people want to read them. So. I basically liked the last two weeks' little pieces I did for that class soooo much that they'll be put up here. Also, some reflections on little life incidents, fears (like what losing my car forever will do to my self-identity), and possibly some begging people to accept a copy of my thesis to skim over and hopefully appreciate.
I got blood drawn twice in the last week and it didn't hurt that much, even less than I remembered. I'm not really afraid of needles, although I prefer not to watch it puncture my skin. I still have not donated blood in years, though. The last time I did, I nearly passed out during the finger-stick test-for-Fe-content part where they ask you if you've had sex with a man since 1977. The nurse missed the artery the first time, and after digging at my finger with the little glass pipette to try and draw out the last little bit she needed, decided to re-stick me. She was holding the finger-stick device over my next finger over when I got all pale and nearly fell out of the chair. I think it was the sensation of the glass tube probing around under my skin that did it, although the imminent needle-stick in another fingertip is nothing to look forward to. I disliked the physical reaction, the loss of control (my doctor called it a Vagus nerve reaction, I think, though I don't have a good memory for technical terms), but also the embarrassment at being turned away for my lack of fortitude. Even though there's apparently nothing you can do to prevent a fainting spell (and even though they can happen to anyone), the self-assurance at voluntarily driving to the clinic to give blood was forced to go head-to-head with my insecurity about being physically weak, and the results since indicate that it lost. Maybe someday I'll get over it. I think I'm gonna be off the hook for the next couple years for having lived in a malarial/bird flu zone, and a lot can change between now and then, so as an O+ who has internalized public service messages over the years about the good I can be doing, I'm hoping that I get over myself enough to subject myself to the risk of failure and go under the little finger-stick thingy again.
I'm hoping to do less chronicling of the crap that I do (those of you who took yamashita's seminar with me last spring likely share my distaste for the chronicle) and more of the opinions about things. This would be the putting into practice of Why I took that Creative Writing Class in the First Place: I want to be able to write well about things I find interesting/important and then have people want to read them. So. I basically liked the last two weeks' little pieces I did for that class soooo much that they'll be put up here. Also, some reflections on little life incidents, fears (like what losing my car forever will do to my self-identity), and possibly some begging people to accept a copy of my thesis to skim over and hopefully appreciate.
I got blood drawn twice in the last week and it didn't hurt that much, even less than I remembered. I'm not really afraid of needles, although I prefer not to watch it puncture my skin. I still have not donated blood in years, though. The last time I did, I nearly passed out during the finger-stick test-for-Fe-content part where they ask you if you've had sex with a man since 1977. The nurse missed the artery the first time, and after digging at my finger with the little glass pipette to try and draw out the last little bit she needed, decided to re-stick me. She was holding the finger-stick device over my next finger over when I got all pale and nearly fell out of the chair. I think it was the sensation of the glass tube probing around under my skin that did it, although the imminent needle-stick in another fingertip is nothing to look forward to. I disliked the physical reaction, the loss of control (my doctor called it a Vagus nerve reaction, I think, though I don't have a good memory for technical terms), but also the embarrassment at being turned away for my lack of fortitude. Even though there's apparently nothing you can do to prevent a fainting spell (and even though they can happen to anyone), the self-assurance at voluntarily driving to the clinic to give blood was forced to go head-to-head with my insecurity about being physically weak, and the results since indicate that it lost. Maybe someday I'll get over it. I think I'm gonna be off the hook for the next couple years for having lived in a malarial/bird flu zone, and a lot can change between now and then, so as an O+ who has internalized public service messages over the years about the good I can be doing, I'm hoping that I get over myself enough to subject myself to the risk of failure and go under the little finger-stick thingy again.
posted by sam at
6:06 PM
1 Comments:
i do not share in your distaste for the chronicle.
happy birthday.
sad needles.
i heard about a woman who was part of the los angeles bdsm scene. her biggest fear in life was needles. they terrified her. her friends wanted to do something extraordinary for her fortieth birthday. They dressed in long robes and masks, then kidnapped her to a mansion in the hills. the masked individual strapped her into a chair and surrounded the chair in a large circle. They brandished needles and pierced her ears with them.
needles.
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Anonymous, at 4/14/07, 8:18 PM
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