Monday, January 3, 2011

"Whole Again"

So I had to write 2 creative non-fiction pieces for my English 285 class. This is the one that I actually liked. I figured I would post it. So yeah. Yay, right?

"Whole Again"

A little over a year ago I cut my finger on a meat slicer while training someone how to use it. It wasn’t terrible, just a small portion of my right index finger had been removed, and it was chillin’ on the table looking at me. I grabbed a paper towel, wrapped my finger and went out to the lobby where both my bosses were and in a little girl voice, which I get when I’m trying to not cry, I said, “I’m so sorry.” Of course, they had no idea why, but quickly discovered as blood started gushing down my arm. Luke, the owner, decided the best course of action was to get a horrible and terrible blood coagulator called, “no bleed.” After cursing at Luke for five minutes for making me endure the excruciating and burning pain of the no bleed, the blood still wouldn’t stop, so we decided on the hospital.

The hospital visit was like any other. I waited to hours in the lobby while sitting next to a guy with head trauma. Then I finally get called back to discover that not only had my cut stopped bleeding, but the hospital charges forty-five dollars for Neosporin and $500 for a doctor to tell you the cut had stopped bleeding and for a nurse to half-heartedly wrap up the wound. Then the doctor writes a prescription for hydrocodone and never looks me in the eye the entire time. Hospitals are always tons of fun.

Now, it’s about four hours after the incident that the real trouble begins. I had seen the cut three times. Once after the incident, once when Luke almost burned my finger off with the no bleed and once while they were cleaning it in the hospital, and each time it seemed more and more of my finger was disappearing. Every time I looked at it I cried, harder each time.

By the time I got to the pharmacy, in my dramatic, “whoa is me” state, I felt as if half my finger was gone. I was depressed at the thought of living with half a finger and desperately wanted the pain to go away. I was doing everything in my power not to cry in the middle of the store. Then, the pharmacist broke the damn. My friend Jess and I were waiting on my prescription when the pharmacist walked up and asked what happened. After explaining the whole debacle, she looked at my wrapped up finger, and then at my strained face and then back at my finger then said, “Oh! You know that won’t grow back, right?”

Of course, I knew, but in my mind, half my finger was gone and hearing her say that out loud made me realize I would be disfigured for life. I must have made that woman feel awful because I burst out in tears in the middle of CVS. Apologizing for making such a scene, while Jess is trying to stifle her laughter as she puts her arm around me. I can blame it on the blood loss, the pain, the exhaustion, but in reality, I felt I was no longer beautiful because I had, what I felt at the time, a permanently disfigured finger.

After apologizing some more and standing awkwardly next to Jess as she picked up my prescription, I went home, popped a few pain pills and sat down to watch TV. Bad idea. The very first thing I see when I flip on the TV is a commercial for nail polish. This gorgeous woman on the screen seemed to be rubbing my new disfigurement in my face. I switched the channel and came across another ad, but this one was for some alcoholic drink. I remember the woman, with her long, dark, wavy hair and her dark sultry eyes catching the attention of every man in sight. She makes eye contact with one. He motions her over, and buys her a drink. She goes to pick up the drink and her hands were flawless. By this point, I am wallowing in self-pity and hoping the next channel I switch to is either playing The Elephant Man or the Hunchback of Notre Dame. I needed to see non-perfect people, not supermodels.

After two hours, and barely a flaw in sight, I was so very close to just giving up and going to bed. Then I flipped to NBC, and SNL was on. It just so happened that Tina Fey is one of my idols- and it could not have been more appropriate. That scar on her face, from an incident where someone cut her with a knife, is hard to miss. I watched her for a while, and instantly felt better. I somehow felt less scarred. I mean, my cut was on my finger. Hers was on her face, and she wore it proudly. Not to mention that Tina Fey has her own show, which she created, and she was the first woman Head Writer of SNL. She has been defined by her accomplishments, not by her scar. This whole time, I was focused on a relatively small wound, and I completely forgot the fact that my finger, or any part of my body, is not who I am

The main point is that I’m not ruined because of a scar, if anything, it’s given me more of a reason to have a sense of humor. I mean, how many people can say they ended up in the hospital while training new employees? I am who I am because of my personality and my beliefs and my actions, not because I have a little bit less of a finger than I did before. Besides, if someone were to notice it, It’s a nice conversation starter, and luckily, it’s a funny enough story that I don’t mind telling it.

Monday, April 12, 2010


I'm shallow...isn't everyone? I see people at their surface, what they appear to be, and most of the time - that's when I stop looking. I'm so wrapped up in my own life, my own problems, my own thoughts, my own everything, that I don't realize I'm not the only person in my life. I've become this very selfish, very vain person. It wasn't until earlier today that I realized taking a closer look can make you see a person in a completely different way.

For the first time today, I took a closer look at a friend, and saw a talent she had that I never really knew about. She never hid it, I just never saw it. It just kind of stuck with me.

I guess that's all I really have for this post. I've been writing a lot of papers, and just needed to write something of my own.

Sunday, April 19, 2009


She sighs as she reaches into the rusty old box and pulls out a note. Spring was a time for new beginnings, and yet she focuses on the old, failed beginnings. What else do you do when there are no new beginnings, just memories of better times?

She unfolds the note, slowly, knowing that reading it won't make her feel wanted, just forgotten. With the note unfolded she runs her fingers over the words, wishing them to still mean something. Her eyes follow the lines, trying to remember the feeling she had when she first read them, when the author had wanted to preserve them on paper. As she reaches the bottom, her eyes linger on the ending, on the one word she hasn't heard in too long. Love. She sighs again, knowing it's foolish to reach back into an empty past, but she hopes that maybe, just maybe, this time she'll grasp onto something. She rereads the note over, and over again. Trying to look for the problems that caused the letters to stop between the lines. There must be something she missed during the good times, to foreshadow the breakdown. She sighs again as she puts the letter down again, there is nothing between any line or word that could have foretold that she would be sitting on her bed reading a note from a lover she thought would never leave.

She grabs another letter from the box as she lays down on her bed. Written on yellow paper, she reads the letter with less thought than the last. This one is simple, she doesn't think about anything heavy with this one. She just closes her eyes and remembers. The good times were so good.

But the bad times were so bad.

She sits up, puts her head in her hands, and cries. Her thoughts race in her head with the force of a hurricane, she knows what's coming, she's been through this before. First, sadness sweeps over her, causing her to cry harder. Second, doubt, she thinks what she could have done better, how she could have changed to make everything better. The tears continue. Third, regret, she never should have loved in the first place. Fourth, anger, she never deserved this, she is better than he treated her. She never should have let him, she should have been stronger, should have known better. The mixture of emotions bounce and collide in her head until finally, nothing. She sits in silence. A feeling she hasn't experienced before sweeps over her. She reacts the only way she knows how. She lays back down. She looks at the letter. She feels nothing. Clarity.

Amidst the tears, she smiles. Slowly the smile gets bigger, and turns into a laugh. She rips the letter. Once down the middle, then again, and again. She does the same to every letter. She has never felt this release before. She stops at the last note. A small folded up post-it note stuck to the bottom of the box. She doesn't remember it. She picks it up, unfolds it. She reads it slowly, letting the words sink in, feeling free. She does not rip this note up, she does not throw it out. Instead, she places it on the corner of her mirror. She wipes away her tears, and walks outside, quickly engulfed in sunlight. As Spring unfolds around her, her mind repeats what was written on that sticky note. She feels as free as she ever has, released from the grasp of her past.

"We accept the love we think we deserve" she thinks
"I deserve more" she whispers.

Tuesday, February 3, 2009

.True Colors.

the snow falls slowly to the ground
as my heart takes a leap of faith
it falls flat on the snow

the unrequited kiss
makes the snow feel warm
Your shoulders turn away

one day, two days, three go by
my heart still on display
red beating on white

I cannot smile as you walk on
crying does not work
I've tried, many times

Little pills, blue and white
make me happy
at least for now

Red, white, blue
The colors between you and I
The American Dream

Saturday, December 27, 2008

First Kiss

I've been in a weird mood all day.

It was my family Christmas today, so all of my dad's side of the family came to our house to eat, be merry, etc, and for some reason, it's put me in a weird mood. Part of it could be that I am very tired, and haven't slept too much because I have gotten slightly addicted to a game I got for Christmas from my brother (SPORE!) and I play it until three in the morning. Another part is that I keep seeing couples! One of my cousins is married. Another one brought his girlfriend. Another one brought her boyfriend...blah blah blah.
I'm jealous
The point is, I felt happy to be around people I haven't seen in a year, but I felt lonely at the same time.

Here's where it all started.
My cousins do this thing called geocaching. Google it. It's awesome. So the whole geocaching thing led us to the park. On the way back we walked through town in the rain, so naturally I had an umbrella. Umbrella's always make me feel like I should be in the 1940s or something. Weird, I know. As we were walking down the street, we passed all the old apartment buildings/stores of downtown. These buildings always makes me think of black and white movies. Murder mysteries and old love stories. Old buildings bring out the movies' air of romance to me. It makes me think of the romantic moments in the movies. Where it wasn't about having sex, but instead about the first kiss. The first kiss in old movies is always the most romantic. There's that moment of tension, anticipation, nervousness right before the quintesential first kiss. It's a great feeling.

I know for a fact that feeling is so much better when the first kiss is with someone you truly like.

Moral: I want to feel that feeling again.

Hint: If it's the right person, you'll feel that way every time you kiss.

New Year's Resolution #1: Have a meaningful relationship with someone new.

Friday, December 19, 2008


I have strange thoughts. A lot of them.
I played a game of "word association" the other day. Every time someone said a word, the first thing that would pop into my head was very odd. I won't go into specifics. The only point I want to make with that is, I have strange thoughts.
Whenever I am on a bus, or waiting for a bus, or just in a crowd of people that I don't know very well, I try to see how people react around one another. It's very interesting. Here's what goes on in my head, with a little added narration to help it make sense.

I sit down at the bench to wait for the bus to take me to my car. It's freezing out. Stupid winter. I hope my car starts. Why don't my headphones work? I look around. Ten people stand around waiting for the bus. A couple, standing close and talking. Very much in love. I'm jealous. He wraps his arms around her as she bounces up and down trying to stay warm. He smiles and kisses her forehead. I'm jealous. Another couple stands next to one another, her arm is linked on his. She looks around, unsure of what to do. He talks on his phone. I wonder whether or not they are fighting. I wonder why they are fighting. Maybe he lied to her, about where he was at. She does look protective of him. Maybe they both know that their relationship is over, but neither wants to admit it for reasons known only to them. He hangs up the phone and pulls her in for a hug like the other couple. Only, there is no forehead kiss, no signs that there is love in the relationship. At least they both look comfortable. Sitting next to me is a guy. He's probably 22. Yeah, I'll say 22. He's on listening to his I pod. I look at him. He looks up. I look away. I wonder why it feels taboo to look at someone when you don't know them. I didn't think he was attractive, I didn't want to date him. I just wanted to say hi, or smile or something, but I feel like I'll look stupid. Plus it would probably strike up a conversation, and I didn't want that. I waited a little bit before looking back at him. He was definitely in his own world. One that was narrated by the music he was listening to and consisted of the path he needed to take to get to where he was going. Nothing else. I had a teacher who told me once in class that kids these days always have a blank stare when they are walking. Simply because of their headphones. I make a promise to listen to nature more, and to smile to people when I walk by them.
I look left a little and see a group of three girls standing, huddling to keep warm. These girls are the type that annoy me. I bet they would annoy me even more if they were drunk. Why is it that when girls get drunk they think we care about everything they say? I don't care how drunk you are. Don't tell me. Also, if you have an annoying voice when you aren't drunk, it's louder and more annoying when you are drunk. "Oh my gawd, I'm so drunk, I should probably start taking off my clothes and hop into bed with the nearest loser who is waiting for me to start making out with them"
So these three girls are talking. Loudly. They are talking about how they can't believe that some girl slept with some guy, and how she's such a slut. Then they start taking about who they hooked up with last Saturday. I want to punch them. However, I am curious as to why they think one girl is a slut when they did the exact same thing as her, and why are they talking about it in a crowd of people. I think that's another thing "kids" do these days. They don't really have discretion. I'm sure these girls also have pictures of them selves doing kegstands topless.
The other two people standing have started talking. They probably have a class together, or had a class together, or are basically acquaintances. At any matter, the girl looks like she really doesn't want to talk to this boy, and the boy talks on as if he doesn't notice. I'm sure he doesn't. She leans away from him, shifts her weight, fidgets uncomfortably, constantly looks for the bus. All the signs that she doesn't want to talk to this person. He continues talking about some pointless story that he apparently finds completely funny. I bet she is going to leave, and either forget about the conversation or tell all of her friends what an idiot the boy is, making him her own personal joke. He is probably going to leave and be completely oblivious to the fact that she doesn't like him, and that he is the butt of her jokes. I bet he is a really nice guy, and she probably just doesn't give him a chance in hell. Unless he is a douche. He could be a douche. But I don't get that vibe. How many times a day do I act like that to some guy who is probably really and genuinely nice? More than I probably realize.

Oh, bus is here. I hate riding the bus, too many people. I can't watch them, they give me weird looks.

I wonder what people think of when they watch me?