I'm kind of weird about blood. It's not that I'm disgusted or terrified of it, it's more like I... value it more? No, that's not right. It's hard to explain. I feel like blood is the most personal intimate thing ever. Not sexually intimate, just... Okay, well, you cut yourself and you bleed, right? That blood has been inside your heart. It's been in each of those little rooms. It's been in your brain... Your brain that creates a person out of a little electricity. That blood has lived in you where it's dark and hot and everything is submerged and now it shouldn't be out dripping on a paper towel like something icky. It's like... liquid-you-essence or something.
When I did a summer at art school, I had a crush--my first, really--on a girl. Gabrielle. She was lean and had a mohawk and was super bad-ass. I was quiet and normal and super insecure. One night we were working late in the sculpture studio with a couple other people. Gabrielle was (I still cringe to even say it) attempting to use a power drill to drill holes through the centers of the metal lids from huge cans of food. She put one hand on the edge of the lid to steady it and turned on the drill. Of course, the drill was more powerful than her hand and the can lid went spinning around like a buzz saw. I heard her scream and turned around and there was blood everywhere. She was holding her damaged hand over her head. The two other people who were in the studio ran out. To get help maybe? I don't know. They didn't come back, but I think one of them called 911. I went for the first aid kit and the best it had to offer was an ace bandage, which we tried to make the best of. Anyway, eventually an ambulance came to take her away and I was alone in the studio. I wanted to go home and untraumatize myself, but I couldn't just leave her blood all over the place like that. It wasn't right... So I stayed and cleaned it all up. Wiped it off the walls, her sculpture, the chairs. Had to throw away my socks and jeans and sweatshirt. But I felt a little better after it was all cleaned up. I don't completely know why. It's just a weird blood thing I have.
When I did a summer at art school, I had a crush--my first, really--on a girl. Gabrielle. She was lean and had a mohawk and was super bad-ass. I was quiet and normal and super insecure. One night we were working late in the sculpture studio with a couple other people. Gabrielle was (I still cringe to even say it) attempting to use a power drill to drill holes through the centers of the metal lids from huge cans of food. She put one hand on the edge of the lid to steady it and turned on the drill. Of course, the drill was more powerful than her hand and the can lid went spinning around like a buzz saw. I heard her scream and turned around and there was blood everywhere. She was holding her damaged hand over her head. The two other people who were in the studio ran out. To get help maybe? I don't know. They didn't come back, but I think one of them called 911. I went for the first aid kit and the best it had to offer was an ace bandage, which we tried to make the best of. Anyway, eventually an ambulance came to take her away and I was alone in the studio. I wanted to go home and untraumatize myself, but I couldn't just leave her blood all over the place like that. It wasn't right... So I stayed and cleaned it all up. Wiped it off the walls, her sculpture, the chairs. Had to throw away my socks and jeans and sweatshirt. But I felt a little better after it was all cleaned up. I don't completely know why. It's just a weird blood thing I have.
crazydasaint:
