Away I go to Jefferson City, TN. I'm spending a week with the Marietta Vineyard youth group on an Appalachian Outreach missions trip.
See you next Monday! I will miss you all. But first, my mother, as she dances wildly around the kitchen:
"I should so be on Youtube."
Dear beige SUV taking the Appalachian Highway last weekend,
You were really cramping our style. We didn't take the long way to go 30 in a 35. No. Our sport-touring motorcycle can handle 40. 50, even. It's a bummer you doubt your Sport Utility Vehicle's ability to do the same. I speak not only for my father and me, but for the Porsche Boxster and both Ford pickups behind you. I apologize for the tailgating Porsche, but you had it coming. He couldn't legally pass over the double yellow line. Passing at all was impossible while taking the sharp, blood-pumping curves. The Highway Makers provided quite a few shoulders for you to take. To let us pass. I suppose that just didn't work for you.
I understand that you were trying to be cautious, but we would rather you exercise extreme cautiousness behind us. And even then, adrenaline is fun. Try it.
Sick of seeing your tail lights,
lucy
I lost interest in my Visual DNA.
Like Nicole, I added a Facebook badge.
New links include Whiskeymarie, Scott, and Action Poetry.
I went to Asheville, NC Friday night and took some fun pictures. As soon as I figure out how to get them on here, they will be.
Post Secret hasn't yet updated. I'm beginning to doubt that today is Sunday. The power they have....
Please forgive my hastiness. The thunder is threatening the electricity and survival of this post.
I don't think I've ever told anybody this: I have a deep-seated yearning to impact the world. By impact I mean influence, leave a mark, change...all that. I'm not yet sure how, where, when, or even if I will. I feel as though I must. Unbeknownst to me until recently, changing the world feels to be more of a responsibility than a goal.
While this goal may be common, I don't think it universal, and saw this here blog as a worthy forum for future updates. They may be few and far between, but I'm starting early, relatively, and I beleve that if I make the right choices, remain diligent, responsible, courageous, hopeful and close to God, I can *cue cliché* do anything. Anything within my abilities, of course (and, I suppose, the abilities of the people I am able to reach).
You know the saying "God has a sense of humor"? In this case, I am not one to agrue.
I wrote and erased a post this morning about my excessive opinion sharing, and grasped at straws for a better topic. Giving up, I hung out with Jack and Skye, talking, eating lunch and the like. After agreeing that a slice of watermelon would be the perfect addition to this beautiful afternoon, I retrieved both the watermelon and my father's crazy sharp Japanese kitchen knife.
I know you know where this is going. And it is.
Now, I've used this knife before to cut the past two watermelon. I have this healthy paranoia when it comes to sharp things, but my love for watermelon often outweighs it. With Jack rotating the watermelon as I cut it in half, we were close to fine. So close...
And then I stuck my thumb in the line of fire. I wanted to find the line I had been cutting, as to continue the straight line and avoid mangling my favorite fruit. There was my thumb, and there was the crazy sharp knife. And there was the chunk of the tip of my thumb.
In pain and, I suspect, shock, I ran down the hall to the bathroom, grabbed some toilet paper, and put pressure on the bleeding thumb. The bleeding was bad. There's still some on the bathroom floor, in the sink, and on my foot. It was dripping everywhere.
I hate blood, especially my own. I hate needles more than blood--I could never be a heroin addict (this offers my mother some comfort). I was hoping, hoping, hoping that the missing piece of my thumb was no reason for stitches. But the bleeding wouldn't stop. So I called Mom, who called Dad, who came home as fast as he could.
The tears were not from pain, but from the horrible anticipation of the emanating needles and my father's anger. That knife was not to be used by children, and certainly not children home alone. *Cue lesson learned.*
He took me to Urgent Care along with the thumb chunk, which had been preserved with the help of Jack's knowledge of medical shows, Ziploc bags, and ice. I was fairly impressed, but the nurse tossed it.
"I don't think we can stitch this back on, sweetie..."
Two doctors and two nurses came in. One nurse took my temperature and blood pressure, and one doctor seemed to exist only for comfort. I was not comforted. The main doctor tied a rubber tourniquet around the base of my thumb to stop the bleeding and explained the cauterizing method.
"We're going to use a special chemical to close the blood vessels. It might sting a little bit." Immediate mental note: this is going to hurt, and it's going to hurt a lot.
She took a translucent wand covered in the chemical and rubbed it around in my open thumb. It stung like crazy, but I always take the "No pain, no gain" deal to heart when it comes to medical procedures. My eyes watered quite a bit, and the Comfort Nurse exclaimed, "Oh! You're breaking out in hives! Aw, look, you're all red..." Yes, Nurse, you got me.
It was pretty cool though, the chemical really did burn the blood vessels. It turned the skin crater all black. No more blood, no more tears. The doctor stuck a piece of Gel Foam in my thumb and wetted it down. It acts as a sort of synthetic scab. The second nurse took a nifty gauze tool and wrapped up my now healing thumb. I was very grateful. It was a trauma-free experience, all things considered. It'll heal, maybe even without a scar.
As Dad and I were getting in the car he added, "This would make a good blog post, huh?"
Well.
I know I'm only guessing, but this has got to be what it feels like to need a drink.
Gah.
