Sunday, April 10, 2011

scar tissue

The skin below my fingernail on my right hand's index finger (before the first joint) is 100% scar tissue. I can poke it and scratch at it all I want and I barely feel a thing. This is because when I was a foolish freshman at Canisius, I attempted to use one of those home-wax kits where you microwave the little pot of wax and spread it on your eyebrows with a wooden stick. I popped the tub in the microwave, somehow microwaved it to the point where the wax was boiling, and pulled it out of the microwave with such abandon that a glob of molten wax sloshed out and landed square on my fingertip. I ran screaming down the hall to our floor's community bathroom and immediately began running ice cold water on my finger, but it was too late. The wax came off, as did half of the skin on my finger. I kept it wrapped in gauze for several days and then finally it seemed healed, but not to the normal skin that existed there before. The skin was seemingly numb to the touch and still is, five years later. I got to thinking about this incident the other day while perusing Henry Rollins quotes (because who doesn't need more Henry Rollins in their life?),

"Scar tissue is stronger than regular tissue. Realize the strength, move on".

To an extent, I agree because empirically, the skin on my finger is stronger than the skin on my other finger tips. It doesn't hurt when I poke it with my other fingernails and is rougher. However, it would be horrible if my entire body had the same type of skin. I wouldn't be able to feel anything, let alone anything good or enjoyable. What I'm trying to get at (and making a terrible metaphor) is that I think some amount of scar tissue, whether it be real or metaphorical, can be a good thing if you've been hurt badly. It can shield your skin or your feelings from being hurt again. However, too much scar tissue can block out good feelings as well, and I think that you have to feel the pain in order to appreciate the good.

That being said, I had a great time at Barrister's Ball, and I have to laugh at my melodramatic pronunciations that I would be simply sitting in the corner drinking red wine and sadly observing the crowd. I've always had a flair for the dramatics. It's why I've deleted my old livejournal, because some of the stuff in there is genuinely embarrassing to read.

I think this blog is about to become a lot more pleasant. 

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