So I like to eat oranges. Really sour ones at that. Usually I peel the oranges by slicing the skin with a knife so that I can proceed to peal the rest and savour the sour juiciness of the Vitamin C enriched goodness. Today as I was trying to peel my second orange, the too careless and clumsy person that I am, I managed to literally slice my left index finger with a very sharp kitchen knife.
It wasn't a downward slicing motion but rather a hard, very quick, deep press into my finger, but I would call it a slice rather than a cut nonetheless. A cut is too shallow and minute. I have to admit that when it happened, the first thought that went through my mind was shit, then to be followed by an indifferent emotion. For one thing, my very unfortunate consensual mishap that occurred last September in the entries of Fuck My Life and Back In The Dark Place- Major Relapse (Warning: dark and unstable entries) has left me with a very ugly scar that I now wish was never there because it does cause too much unwanted speculation from others and a waste of my own breath for loathed explication. It's not so much my vanity with the great number of scares that inhabit my body, though it is with this obvious one as I have slowly learned with time and age the importance of taking care of one's body from acknowledged lack of resilience, but more so the questions from others that I would very much rather not have to deal with since I prefer not to deal with people in general. And now I am doing the best I can to make it heal better, though I know and fear it may be impossible for the severe damage I had done to myself, but I can only hope it will get better even if so many months have passed and I am still left with a severe unflattering and pink fleshy scar.
As for my finger incident, I didn't know what to feel as I never know what to feel by unexpected and sudden bodily mutilation that was not self induced and consented. I don't know whether I am happy or kicking myself in the ass for my clumsiness. But as I saw the blood gushing out of my finger I couldn't help but be attracted to continue the full on examination of my finger and the clean and deep slit that had been accidentally made. Also, I love bandages, so not so bad.
I have heard, and may have mentioned before, that when the body gets hurt or say cut, the brain releases endorphin-like chemicals to make yourself feel good. So maybe that is the reason why such things hurt so good to me and how I entirely prefer external pain rather than internal pain.
After acknowledging how clean the cut was and understanding that it would heal the right way, I confess that my masochistic preferences kicked in and I wasn't sad. When these things happen they are of no great significance to me as I am one of the most clumsiest persons you will ever know.
When the blade pressed down into my finger with such quick efficiency, I can tell you that I actually did not feel it as one would've. I actually didn't feel it at all. And I don't know whether to be surprised or astonished at my own nerve endings. Maybe because it happened to quickly, or maybe it was my tolerance for physical pain. But I thought that was pretty exciting to share since it has really been a while since I have spoken about that hidden part of me especially since my different emotional sides often seem to be competing with each other and usually one wins out of the other.
Cheers.
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