...

I don't have anything in particular to say, I just feel like writing.
It's Wednesday, and I had Monday off. Yet somehow this has managed to be a hellish week. Too much work, too much pain, too much confusion.

My hand is healing nicely; on the surface it's little more than a pink line, and it only hurts now if I really strain my hand or put significant pressure on it. So, that's something good. I have to try to focus on the good... it seems that there are too many negative things competing for attention...

I suppose the primary cause of my stress is myself. Ultimately, I allow myself to be frustrated. I choose to wait too long and work too hard, hence my exhaustion. I let myself stress.

But life hasn't been doing me too many favors lately. My mother had surgery... again. I've been bitchy to my boyfriend, which I just feel awful about-- that's not life's fault, but it's a stress. I've had loads of work to do. It's strange how when I write down my stressors, they look so small and so few that I wonder why I bother being stressed about them. However, it's a lot less daunting to read loads of work than to read 4 Psychology Essays, 5 sketches, 2 Physics Labs, 4 Biology Reading Guides, 1 Biology Lab, 2 Faith Papers, US History Midterm Essay, Psychology Midterm, Advanced Pre-Calculus Midterm, Latin project (gigantic poster/sculpture), Roman Mythology Test, English Transcendentalism/Anti-Transcendentalism/Poetry Test, US History Objective Midterm, English Literature Midterm, Physics Midterm, Biology Midterm, Faith Midterm Project.
Hm... perhaps the stress is somewhat justified, then.

I feel as if I should now establish some important, controlling point and wrap this up with a simple, yet deep lesson about life.

Sorry.

Ouch

So. it's been a tough week. A really tough week. And so, to cheer myself, when I came home today I began to work on a project I've been doing that I quite love. One part of this, which I started today, involves carving out part of a wood block to fit a rather large magnet. I carefully measured and scored the block, hoping to be as precise as I could. Several minutes into this, however, the scythe-shaped tool I was using slipped off of the block and plunged into the center of my left hand.
Sudden pain. Excruciating. Why did this hurt so bad? Had I severed nerves? I ran to the sink, turned on the cold water, and thrust my hand beneath. After a second or so, the icy fluid felt suddenly warm. Panic. Had I somehow injured myself beyond distinguishing warm from cold? I felt the water with my right hand, and found to my great relief that the warmth was no hallucination. Quickly grabbing a rag to dry my hand and staunch the bleeding, I sprinted upstairs to get a numbing/disinfecting spray and, after returning downstairs, covered my hand with it. Then, still in pain but slightly calmer, I filled my rag with ice and held it to my palm.
It was then that I commenced pacing. I always pace to calm myself down. But no-- I thought how, at such a generally good time of my life, I got constantly injured. There was a time I would have appreciated that. I thought of telling someone-- I knew I wouldn't be heard. I'm never heard. I thought how I was in pain, and no one else in the entire world knew or cared. I paced faster. I thought about my week, and as tears finally broke over my eyelids and rolled down my face, the phrase, "the straw that broke the camel's back" slipped deviously into my mind, haunting me. And I knew that somehow, despite all my growth, I was where I'd always been-- completely and utterly alone, even among loved ones. Through my quiet sobbing I flexed the fingers of my left hand slightly, looking to make sure they did as they were told. But even as relief flooded through me once again, I cried a little harder at the thought that I had to check at all. Pathetic, lonely and helpless. I've come so far.
Just as I was ready to begin calming myself down, the phone rang. I ran upstairs to it, picked it up. "Hello, Jacquie!" Betty. About 70 years old, she was a sweet woman with a big heart and a tendency to talk a lot. As she told me she had a cold/flu/bug/etc., I sighed to myself. My last tears had not yet fallen from my face and still I held my bleeding hand... and already I was listening to someone else's problems. It seemed ridiculous. It also characterized my life.

Now, as I was unable to find medical tape for use with gauze, I have two Band-Aids on my hand.

Life is fabulous.

2010

It's been a while since I've posted.
Everything has changed... 2009 was more a year of change than I ever expected.
And now it's over. A new year full of potential awaits, and I plan to use it to the best of my ability.
I don't know what I'll do as far as writing. I haven't written much lately. I just have to figure out my life. My interests. My future. And run with it. Take it to the extreme.
2010 will be beautiful.