A History of Scars

I need to change my work schedule. Splitting up my two days off to make up for the lack of bodies in the office is working me to the last limb and turning my brain into slush. I'm tired of the cups of coffee, power bars and cigarette breaks that fuel me throughout the day. And when you don't have two days off in a row, you never really feel like you have a day off. You sleep in and spend the rest of the day running errands and don't have any real time for yourself. I can't think straight and my back hurts. I should see a chiropractor.

My co-worker sees a chiropractor for therapy on his neck and a few days ago he was inviting me for a free consultation. He was telling me that after a few sessions he started to feel more energetic and alive. I asked what exactly they do and he described the entire 30 minute session, ending it with, "... and in the end he places his knee on my lower back and applies all his weight on my spine.". My co-worker is about 450 lbs. I wonder if the chiropractor also applies all his weight on a regular sized guy or if he normally just uses his hands for the final procedure. I'm sure that having 160 lbs. of pressure pinned down on my spine will cause more back problems. I don't think I can let someone align my spine by cracking my neck with a quick turn of his hands that could possibly snap my head off. There's some things about chiropractors that I don't trust, but...

When I was still in college in the Philippines, one of my favorite walks was through Session Road which is basically the heart of Baguio City. One thing that always caught my eye was a sign at the window of a gynecologist's office. The sign advertised the services: "Fregnancy Tests, Frenatal Care, Pat Smir". Pat smir? No girl I know is going there. If you can't spell it, you damn sure can't perform it!

After graduation, I managed to break the bone just under my little finger on my right hand. It was too late to put it into a cast so I had to get an operation to have the bone reattached. Cool, my hand won't look deformed and I'll have a functional pinky; The only thing is that for one month, to keep the bone together and aligned while it healed, a thick wire was inserted in my hand. It was about two and a half inches long and about a fourth of an inch protruded out and was exposed. Damn the times I forgot it was there and applied pressure on it to stand up. When it was time to have the wire removed, the doctor just yanked it out without warning with a pair of pliers. So my hand doesn't look deformed but I still wear a deep two inch scar below one of my knuckles.

When I was eight years old, my first time in the Philippines with my family, I managed to have my blood sucked by a bunch of mosquitoes (mosquitoes have an internal radar for fresh blood from America). My mom kept telling me not to scratch but there was one pain in the ass bite on my left leg that was killing me. So I scratced and scratched and the itching turned into temporary pleasure, and eventually an infection, which in turn became a scab that dried and peeled off and became a scar I still wear today.

I have a few scars that seem to be disappearing and will forever leave my body's history of pain. Everyone has at least one chicken pox scar that is still visible. Mine is on my left hand just below my index finger. Its been with me since first grade and is quickly fading away. I also still have a scar from a hot iron. I cooked a portion of my forearm while pressing some slacks and rushing to get to an award ceremony during my senior year in college.

My newest scar is in between my index and middle finger on my right hand. Ever have your moist lips dry over a cigarette butt? Unknowingly the butt sticks to your lips. When you try to pull away the cigarette like normal to exhale, you end up damn near ripping the skin off your lips and the cigarette cherry squeezed between your fingers. Son of a...!

Back to work in less than twelve hours. I try to make the most out of my nights since my days have been scarred by my growing impatience with the people I work with. I hate being the one to carry the load on my shoulders. If some people worked as much as they talk then companies wouldn't have to worry about having to pay overtime.

Time for coffee and a smoke. I'll be careful.