Scars

I just wanted to post about scars because today as I was avoiding studying I counted the scars on my hands. On

my left hand I had five. On my right hand I had Twenty-three. Twenty-Three!

That is an 18 number difference!

To me that was astonishing. I chalked it up to my right hand dominance, how since my right hand did all the work it went through all the pain as well. Then as I was wrapping my dorm door in christmas paper, my right hand (which was, unfortunately, holding scissors) slipped too far down and sliced into to top of my left hand, middle finger.

Now this may not look like a very harsh cut. But let me tell that this little sucker can bleed, and it was also quite painful.

I figured this happened because my right arm was subconsciously jealous of my left hands' smoother features.

About two hours later I forgot about it and rubbed my face with the back of my knuckles for a couple minutes(It's a habit when I'm studying). It stung, so I looked at my hand and I had reopened the cut.

My exact response was, "Stupid Thrombocytes! Do your job!"

Now it's healing, and I hope it leaves a scar, because I really do like the look of them. It shows me I've been through some crap and I wasn't perfect at it.

Whether it was the sharp hanger hook backstage in high school, or the knife I was playing with that got a little out of hand. Literally. Maybe the fork I dropped on my foot that bled like a madman, or the time my elbow knocked the clock to the ground and as I picked up the shards of glass my thumb got an unwelcome visitor.

It truly doesn't matter what the occasion, only the fact that I've had the experience of pain and I know I can survive.

Because I'm a tough girl. Covered in Disney Princess Bandaids. :D