I Lost It

Well, hello there! It's been a while! 

For my renewal post, I'm participating in Mama Kat's Weekly Writing Prompts. Each week, we are given a choice between five prompts to write a post about. This week, I've chosen number 4: The last thing you lost.

For Christmas this past year, my mom bought me one of the most highly requested items on my list: a FitBit One. 

If you’ve never heard of a FitBit, it is a little device that you can clip on to your clothing, and while you move about throughout the day, it will track your steps taken, miles walked, floors climbed, calories burned, hours slept at night, then give you an overall fitness score on how well you are doing each day. 

I know, pretty, right?

Personally, I love it. It gives me more motivation to keep moving, and I love when the little flower stem is as high as it can go -- that’s what tells me I have a high fitness score. 

I would love to say that these pictures are of my FitBit and I’m showing off how active I have been. But, I can’t. Not because I lost the actual FitBit. Because I lost its charger. A while ago. Needless to say, the FitBit is dead and doesn’t even turn on anymore. And all my great active statistics have just fallen from the sky and crash landed in a fiery burst of destruction. But slightly less dramatic. 

I’ve been searching for it everywhere. And really, the only logical places it could be would be somewhere in my room or in one of my bags. And I’ve searched them all. 

I really miss wearing it every day and checking in to see how I’m doing. I also miss receiving badges of honor and wearing them proudly for each milestone, like lifetime floors climbed and miles walked. Sigh.

I’ve been contemplating just buying a new charger. However, I know that the second I do, the second I purchase a new one, the old one will turn up. I know it. Because that’s how life works. I guess there's no harm in having a backup, right?

Complications

It's that time of the week! Mama Kat's Writing Prompts. Hop on over to see the full list of prompts and participate!

This week, I chose prompt number 4:

Write about something that complicates your life.

Warning: This may be more of a rant than an intelligent stream of thoughts or writing.

Something that currently complicates my life and probably will for a long time is related to my career.

I've worked extremely hard to get where I am. To get through school, obtain my degrees, write my thesis, student teach, get through graduate school from Columbia with my Master's, and finally pass my last test needed for certification, the American Sign Language CST (Content Specialty Test), which took me three times to pass. Don't even get me started on that.

To teach in public schools in New York, teachers must have certification. Regardless if the principal, superintendent, and curriculum and instruction personnel want a teacher on staff, he or she cannot be hired without Board of Education approval, which without certification, cannot happen.

Before I passed the CST, I thought that was the last thing I needed for certification. I thought that once I passed, I would be certified and finally find a job -- if one was available here; a whole other issue -- and be a real teacher, in a real classroom, with real students of my own. And theoretically, that's how it works, assuming all other documentation is complete.

Those documents include a child abuse workshop, a violence workshop, completion of a teaching program from an accredited institution, an institutional recommendation, and all undergraduate transcripts. All of that of mine is finished. Except for one thing. My undergraduate transcript from my Bachelor's degree at C.W. Post.

Why, you ask? Well, here's where it gets interesting.

Before C.W. Post, I was a student at Suffolk County Community College. Luckily, my mom paid for these two years of attendance, I received my Associate's degree in ASL and Deaf Studies, and I was on my way to Post. To pay for my tuition at Post, I needed to take out student loans, which my mom co-signed. However, I guess since tuition was so high, we were maxed out on our loans, and I could not get a loan from anywhere for my last semester, and clearly I could not pay thousands of dollars myself.

The funny thing is, I was allowed to attend classes, even without payment. I attended classes, completed my work, completed all courses and all necessary requirements to graduate. But I never received my degree, because I never paid for the tuition, because I had no money, because I couldn't get a real job outside of retail yet. It eventually went to collections -- shocker -- and I paid a good chunk of change upfront, with a monthly payment of $161 immediately after. I've been paying this religiously every month, on time, without fail, for a couple years now, but I still have quite a bit left that I owe.

Due to this balance, which I have even less capabilities to pay for now than I did then, Post absolutely refuses to let me have my transcript, let alone my degree which I still have not received either. Okay, I understand that I still have a balance I owe. But this is literally the last and only thing left I need for certification as a teacher. If I could get certified, I could get a job in my field, make more money, and pay them faster. Make sense? Apparently not to them.

When I went to the school recently, in person, about a 45 minute drive, by the way, I explained to the girl at registrar what I needed. She told me that she could only print the transcript if she got permission from bursar because of the balance. She also told me that if she got permission, she could send it directly to the state or Columbia for me, since it was for certification and I needed to get a job to pay them back.

This might be a good time to mention that I also needed this transcript to get accepted into Columbia. How did I get it then? I called and begged the poor guy who answered the phone at registrar that day to do something, and he felt badly and e-mailed it to me. WHY CAN'T THEY DO SOMETHING NOW?

I then walked over to bursar, literally the opposite side of the small room, and when called up to the window, explained the situation to the woman there. She immediately told me that she could not print transcripts when I have a block on my account due to the balance. I explained what the first girl at registrar told me, that if she got permission she could send it directly to Columbia or the state, and the bursar woman even went to check with someone else, possibly a supervisor or higher-up person. After a few minutes, she came back, apologized and said there was nothing she could do, and there was no way she could print it for me with the block. I almost started crying right there in front of the window. I know it's not her fault, but why can't they just hit PRINT?

I understand I have a block on my account. I understand I owe a balance. But what I don't understand, is then why was I able to attend classes? Why was I able to complete my coursework for all credits necessary to graduate? Why, after knowing this is the only thing left I need to get certified, and that I have been making the necessary payments, at least the minimum amount required every single month, on time, with no latenesses, in succession without fault, can't they just hit PRINT for me? Why can't they just do it once in good faith, knowing that I am paying them back?

I do not have the thousands that are still left to pay. I barely make my payments as it is now, and I can't even afford my phone bill. Somehow, I find a way, because I know I must. But if I don't find a better, higher-paying job soon, I won't have anything left to give them. If I could get a job in my field, that would help. I'd have a better income, and I could pay them more, and faster. But, I can't get a job without being officially certified, and I can't get certified without this stupid transcript, and I can't get the transcript without paying the balance with money that I do not have.

To add to this slightly minor inconvenience, there are plenty of ASL jobs for teachers in states other than New York. People are moving out of here left and right, for teaching other subjects as well, because the availability of job openings here are scarce to say the least. I would try for one of those jobs and move, but wait, I don't have the money to go anywhere, because I don't make enough to save anything to be able to move any time soon. And so the vicious cycle starts again. UGH.

What's complicating your life? I hope it's less annoying than mine.

Paralyzed in Terror

It's that time again... Mama Kat's Weekly Writing Prompts. Writers pick one of the five prompts, with sometimes an option for a vlog instead, write their stories, and link up together on Thursdays. This week I chose number 5:

Tell us about one of the scariest moments of your life.


I never had any kind of near-death experience or anything like that. My scary moment may even seem a little silly to some of you, but if you've ever experienced it, you'll know why it's frightening.

It's called Sleep Paralysis, and it's happened to me three times.

Basically, what happens is that while you are sleeping, you have a feeling of being awake, but you can't move. You feel that your mind is alert, and you can think, but your body has no sensation, and physically you cannot speak or move at all, not even your eyelids.

It's terrifying.

The first time it happened, I had no idea what was going on, and I had an overwhelming feeling of complete terror. I remember it vividly. I was lying in my bed, on my back, desperately trying to move my limbs or open my eyes. Staring into the darkness of the inside of my eyelids, I felt awake, alert, and aware, but was absolutely clueless as to why I could not move. Was something wrong with me? Did I have some unknown hidden condition that decided to surface? All I knew was that no matter how hard I tried, I could not make any muscle move, even a flinch.

After I regained control over my body, I described to my best friend, Roger, what happened and how frightening it was. To my surprise, he knew exactly what it was, and explained Sleep Paralysis to me. After that first circumstance, it occurred twice more thus far. The first two times happened as I was waking up in the middle of the night, and the last time occurred as I was falling asleep. The two different types are described in the link above.

Apparently, it's pretty common, as up to four out of ten people may have sleep paralysis. Many factors may be involved, but I think the ones that pertained to me were lack of sleep, and a changing sleep schedule. I used to suffer from insomnia, and would go days without sleeping, or sleeping only minutes at a time, and that's when it occurred the first time. The last time, I was teaching 45 minutes away from where I live, plus house sitting for my uncle, waking up at 5:00 in the morning on weekdays and trying to "catch up" on weekends (you really can't).

It's difficult to illustrate the fear that overcomes you during this situation. The only way to truly know is to experience it, and I wouldn't wish that on anyone.

Have you ever experienced sleep paralysis? 

Lesson Learned in Friendship

Back again at Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts.

Today I chose number 5:

Share something mean someone had said to you once. Why has it stuck with you after all these years?

Angela and I were inseparable. Every waking moment was spent with each other. Though we were in the same sixth grade class in our last year of elementary school, we didn't really become friends until the first day of junior high.

I was a lost puppy that first day. Attempting to become accustomed to the school layout, having eight different classes with eight different teachers, and not one of them the entire morning included scheduling me with any of my friends.

Until I walked into science class in the middle of the day with Mr. Harvey. I stopped briefly in the doorway, surveying the room. The black chalkboard, the middle-aged man with graying hair standing at the front desk, the windows perfectly aligned behind the black counter across the room, and the dark brown student desks, light glaring off the shiny surfaces.

I gazed around, praying that at least one person I knew would be in this class with me.

Then I heard it.

"Kerry!"

I snapped my head left toward the sound of my name, and there was Angela, sitting in the first row, third seat. 

"Thank God!" I exclaimed and ran over to her desk, hugging her. I sat behind her, and from that day forward, nothing could tear us apart.

We had sleepovers every weekend. I would walk to her house a few blocks away or jump on the bus when school was over to her house instead of mine. We would spend the entire weekend together watching movies, jumping on her trampoline, walking around the neighborhood, playing on her computer, practicing singing our favorite songs, and staying up late just talking the night away about boys. Until she fell asleep and took up the entire bed and I would go into the living room and sleep on the couch. Seriously, how could such a tiny person take up so much room?

We were practically attached at the hip. We attended every school function and dance together. I was given a special candle at her Sweet 16 party. We talked about how we would be friends forever, sitting in rocking chairs when we were 80 or 90, still laughing about the silly things we did as teenagers. We gave each other friendship bracelets, advice on boys, and were there for each other through thick and thin, from our first puppy loves to her parents' divorce to my house fire.

Slowly, yet somehow still suddenly, things began to change. Junior year of high school, Angela broke up with her loving boyfriend of four years and started dating a guy who was the absolute opposite and completely wrong for her. She gained some new friends, he influenced her in all the wrong ways, and she succumbed to his manipulations, taking up smoking, drinking, stealing, lying to her friends and family, and even drugs. She wasn't the same girl I knew. 

We began to drift slightly, but I thought it was just a phase she was going through, trying to deal with her parents' divorce, and she would eventually come to her senses and snap out of it. I envisioned her dumping her loser boyfriend and everything he'd influenced her to do, and coming back to her real life. I was afraid she was just going to end up hurt.

But I apparently should have been more worried for myself, instead.

Through this new boyfriend of hers, Angela also acquired some new "friends," who influenced her just as badly. We hadn't talked too often anymore. I was on the computer one evening on July 3rd, when I received an instant message from her. We exchanged greetings, and she quickly indicated her objective. 

She explained she had some new friends. A new best friend, in fact, named Stephanie. She then felt compelled to tell me:

"I feel closer with her than I ever have with you."

Ouch. Seriously?! After all we'd been through, she felt closer with some new girl she'd known for five minutes over her best friend of four years? That really stung.

After beating around the bush for a few minutes, I finally got to the point.

"What are you trying to say?" I asked her.

She replied: "I guess I'm trying to say that we're not really best friends anymore."

I tried to change her mind, but I realized there was really no point. She had made her decision.

I don't particularly remember how that conversation ended, but those words really stuck with me for a long time. Someone who I thought was my best friend, who was never supposed to hurt me, stabbed me in the heart.

Luckily, a mutual friend, Jackie, was hanging out with my uncle and me the next day at Jones Beach for 4th of July fireworks. A few minutes before we were about to leave, the phone rings. Somehow I just knew it was Angela.

"Hello?" I answer.

"Kerry?" she asks, sheepishly.

"What do you want?" I demand, clearly not holding back my anger at this point.

"Can we please talk?"

"I think you've said everything you needed to say."

She pleaded to arrange a time to talk, claiming she was so sorry, she didn't mean what she said, and she regretted it. I didn't feel like talking. I was hurt and angry. And I wanted to get her out of my mind and just enjoy my day with my uncle and Jackie. But eventually, we set up a time for that weekend. We agreed that I would come to her house Friday night and talk, and if it went well, I would stay over.

I went to the beach with my uncle and Jackie, and distracted myself with food, frisbee, and fireworks. 

Then Friday came. Jackie was at my house, because she knew of my arrangement with Angela and wanted to see how I was feeling about it. Not ten minutes before I was supposed to leave to go see her, the phone rang again. And again, I just knew it was Angela calling to cancel.

She apologized, saying that she had to spend the weekend at her dad's house, and that she was really sorry and that we'd reschedule because she really wanted to work things out with us.

I hung up the phone, and looked at Jackie. We both knew.

"She's lying," we said in unison.

Angela didn't know that Jackie was over. So, a few minutes later, Jackie called Angela like she would have any other day. She asked her what she was up to that night, and if she wanted to hang out. Angela responded with:

"Oh, nothing much. I'm hanging out with my boyfriend and my friend Stephanie and we're going to watch a movie."

I knew it.

Right then and there, I was done. She screwed me over twice, then lied about it. 

I try to give people the benefit of the doubt. She said that by telling me we weren't best friends anymore she had made a mistake, and she wanted to talk about it, to apologize and make it up to me. Okay, fine. Even though it was hurtful, I understand that people make mistakes, so I agreed to see her. But she showed her intentions pretty clearly by canceling on me for her boyfriend and new best friend.

She called repeatedly after that. She tried instant messaging me apologizing, but I was too angry to forgive her. Her words, then her actions, stuck with me. In my mind, it proved to me how she really felt about our friendship.

It was difficult to "get over." A broken friendship often hurts more than a relationship break-up. Boys come and go, but friends are supposed to last forever. They're supposed to support you, love you, and be there for you no matter what.

One day, though, a long time after our friendship ended, I told her that I forgave her. She got excited, but before she got her hopes up, I told her that that didn't make us friends again. Instead, what she did changed what we were forever.

But by forgiving her, I could let it go and move on. Because to me, forgiveness is not about excusing or condoning what the person did. It's about letting go of a grudge, letting go of the anger in your heart, so it can finally heal.

Never Have I Ever

This post came from Mama Kat and her writing prompts.

22 Things I've Never Done:

1. Skydiving. And I never will. Except the fake whirlwind indoor skydiving.
2. Had kids. Not even close to ready.
3. Been out of the country. It makes me quite sad.
4. Swam with dolphins. On my bucket list!
5. Kissed in the rain.
6. Kissed under mistletoe.
7. Gone surfing. But I want to try.
8. Lived on my own. Oh, how badly I want to.
9. Gone on a cruise.
10. Learned to cook. Oh, I can follow a recipe. But I envy those people who can whip up a meal with random ingredients that normally do not belong together.
11. Seen a meteor shower. Every time one comes around, I forget to watch.
12. Seen a shooting star.
13. Learned to play an instrument. I played the viola in third grade, and the flute in fourth, but never mastered either. I also tried teaching myself to play guitar, but that didn't work out. Someone teach me. Please?
14. Gone white water rafting.
15. Gone through a ziplining obstacle course. Which will be accomplished this summer.
16. Gotten back to my original weight. I mean, 7 pounds 6 ounces is a little ridiculous, don't you think?
17. Had my tonsils out.
18. Gotten the flu.
19. Broken a bone.
20. Bungee jumping. Not happening.
21. Smoked a cigarette.
22. Done any illegal drug.

What have you never done?

Father's Day Wish

This topic comes from Mama Kat's weekly writing prompts. Out of five options, I chose number three. The others were non-applicable or irrelevant to me.

List 10 things you would love to give your husband or dad for Father's Day.

Well, no husband.

Ten things I would love to give my father...

Be prepared, folks. This is not going to be your average lovey-dovey warm and fuzzy post about giving back to the wonderful parenting job my father did.

Instead, here's my list:

1) Work ethic
2) A moral center
3) Parenting classes
4) Therapy
5) Mandatory Alcoholics Anonymous meetings and/or rehab
6) Truth serum
7) Diligence to stick to anything
8) A personal trainer
9) Taste buds
10) A swift kick in the ass

That about does it. ;-)

Happy Mother's Day: Life Lessons

Moms are great. They take care of you as a baby; feeding, changing, clothing, entertaining, curing, hydrating. This continues throughout your childhood and adolescent years, while adding more complicated things as your progression as a human continues, such as conversation and negotiating.

Mothers become more than just our 24-hour babysitters. They become nurses, coaches, bank tellers, counselors, chauffeurs, teachers, maids, chefs, seamstresses, and in my case, dads too. And for others, much more.

Moms teach us many life lessons. For some people, there is one lesson, one instance of a childhood or adolescent memory that stands out in particular. Something you learned that you will never forget.

I don't have a memory like that.

I've had a ton of great times with my mom. Feeding ducks at the pond, bowling, ice skating, card and board games, baking cookies, playing Double Dare and hitting each other in the face with whipped cream pies (oh yeah, we did it).

But I never had that one specific moment that stuck out like a sore thumb, that life lesson I will remember forever. Maybe my memory isn't that great. Maybe we never had those moments together. Or, maybe it's because moms never stop teaching us.

Moms are wise individuals. They've lived and learned, they've experienced life on many levels. They've had ups and downs, just like the rest of us. And all they want is for their kids to grow up to be happy, decent, successful people. For that to come to fruition, it takes much more than one life lesson. Rather, those lessons are infinite. Until the grim day that we part ways on this Earth, moms never cease to give us their knowledge.

My mom taught me many things. And, not always just with words, but by her behavior and actions as well. Here is just a snippet of the numerous life and other lessons I have received (in no particular order):

1. Treat others how you want to be treated. You wouldn't want someone to bully you, be mean to you, or put you down, so don't be that person to someone else.
2. Know when to stand up for yourself. Just because you are a nice person, doesn't mean you have to be a doormat. People may mistake kindness for weakness, but don't let them.
3. Work hard, and go for what you want in life. Complacency will lead you nowhere, except exactly where you are. If you want to achieve something, or change something in your life, you won't get it by staying where you are. Do something about it.
4. If I have to lie to Mom about it, it's probably not a good idea.
5. Know when to walk away. It is infinitely better to be single than to be with someone who is not good for you. Stand up for yourself. Know that you are better and more than a relationship.
6. Animals have souls, too. If there are no dogs in Heaven, we are boycotting. Assuming we make it.
7. If you have to, set two alarms. Or three, or four...
8. Act appropriately for your audience/situation. This does not mean change you are depending on who you are with. However, you cannot always exhibit the same behavior with friends as you can with professionals at work.
9. Sometimes, life sucks, and you have to deal with it.
10. And sometimes, you just need to live it up and have fun. It's okay to act like a kid again every once in a while.

That's just a taste. I think I'll keep the rest to myself.

Thank you Mom, for everything you've done and continue to do. I love you. Happy Mother's Day.

Things I Am Currently Sick Of

This prompt comes from Mama Kat's writing prompts. For some reason I can't get the button to work, but you can check out her blog here.

Prompt: List ten things you are currently sick of.

Oh, no problem! I may get hell for some of this, but, oh well!

In no particular order:

1) JERSEY *&%#! SHORE!

2) Smokers complaining about price of cigarettes, having to smoke outside in the cold/rain/snow/heat, not being able to breathe, coughing all the time, smelling like smoke, fingernails/hair/teeth turning yellow and/or brittle, skin turning leathery, and whatever else they complain about DUE TO smoking. Easy solution, people. STOP SMOKING!

3) People thinking they are funny when making Deaf jokes or jokes about ASL. Especially: "Oh, you know sign language? Yeah, I do, too," and promptly give me the finger. Oh, my goodness, you are so hilarious, I've never heard that before in my life... Guess what? You're not cute. You're not funny. You're not original.

4) Inconsiderate, lazy, rude, messy, dirty, disgusting shoppers. Even before I worked in retail, I was NEVER one of these people. I always put things back where I found them, and if I can't remember where it was, I give it to a salesperson rather than leave it in some random place. If I drop something, I pick it up. I hold my trash until I find a garbage can rather than leaving it under a rack of clothes, on top of a rack of clothes, on the floor of the fitting room, on a stool outside the fitting room, in the fitting room rack outside the doors, under a pile of clothes, between stacks of folded shirts, in a pocket of jeans, or inside boxes of merchandise. And yes, that has ALL happened to me while working. Why are people so damn rude and lazy? How freaking difficult is it to just take your merchandise out of the fitting room (YES, BACK ON HANGERS, AND NOT INSIDE-OUT) when you're done trying it on? What makes people think that the fitting rooms are an effing BATHROOM? Do you see a toilet? A sink? No? Then don't leave your bodily fluids and baby's dirty diapers wherever you damn well please. Why do people walk up to a poor retail slave and demand service like the self-entitled prissy princesses they act to be? Chances are if you are rude to an employee for no good reason, he or she will either a) be rude to you right back; b) ignore you and continue working; or c) simply not give you what you want due to your condescending attitude. Just because a person works in a retail store, that does not make you any better than he or she is. He or she is probably working for a damn good reason, such as to make an income while going to school to do something better with their lives, or feed their family, or help their family because someone else lost their job, became injured or disabled, etc. etc. etc. Get over yourself.

5) Anything done by, worn by, said by, or remotely related to the following people and/or things: Lady Gaga, Miley Cyrus/Hannah Montana, The Jonas Brothers, Justin Bieber, Chris Brown, Selena Gomez, Pretty Little Liars, The Secret Life of the American Teenager, vampire movies/TV shows, Will Ferrell, Rebecca Black, Charlie Sheen, Ke$ha, Lindsay Lohan, Royal Wedding BS, any reality show except Hell's Kitchen, Megan Fox, Nicolas Cage, Michael Vick...

6) People doing stupid, reckless things to get attention, and bragging about it. Things such as: Getting into a fight with someone, sleeping with a million people, smoking (anything), drinking themselves into oblivion, doing any illegal drug, getting into trouble with law enforcement, driving recklessly, etc. I'm not impressed. You sound like a moron. You're not cool. Let's see how cool you think you are when driving recklessly at 732894mph causes you to crash into a tree, hit and kill someone, or kill an entire family in one car all because you thought you were a hotshot. Let's see how cool you think you are when sleeping with every person you possibly can gets you one or more incurable STDs or an unwanted pregnancy. Let's see how cool you think you are when run-ins with the police land you in prison because you wanted to boast about your "world against authority" attitude. Let's see how cool you think you are when you are fighting for your life in the hospital due to severe alcohol poisoning simply because you had to prove to everyone at the party how cool and edgy you were for drinking 47 shots of tequila in a row. Yeah, real awesome of you.

7) PLANKING. And whatever other stupid words are now associated with this moronic act.

8) Ridiculous spelling and grammar mistakes. Your = possessive. You're = You are. It's not that difficult.

9) Ridiculous and absurd baby names. Kal-El, Pilot Inspektor, Apple, Blanket, Coco, Kyd, Suri, Sage Moonblood, Maddox, Memphis Eve, Ocean, Rocket Valentino, Racer Maximilliano, Rebel Antonio, Rogue Jaoquin, Rhiannan Elizabeth, Blue Angel, Audio Science, Moon Unit, Diva Thin Muffin, Moxie Crimefighter, Tu Morrow, Jermajesty, Bronx Mowgli (yes, from the damn Jungle Book), Reignbeau, Freedom, Zuma Nesta Rock, Romeo, Brooklyn, Cruz, Seven Sirius, Puma Rose Sabti, Mars Merkaba, Poppy Honey Rosie, Daisy Boo Pamela, Petal Blossom Rainbow, Atlas, Bandit Lee, Denim Cole, Diezel Ky, Nakoa-Wolf Manakauapo Namakaeha Momoa (no, I didn't make that up. How could I?!), Bluebell Madonna, Calico, Dashiell, Sonora Rose, Magnus, Mattias, Banjo, Speck Wildhorse, Bamboo, Indio Falconer, Elijah Bob Patricius Guggi Q, and dear GOD the list goes on forever! WTF were they thinking?! I can't decide which one is the most idiotic.

10) Pe0plE Wh0 WriTe L1k3 Th1s. And "Dis." And who use no punctuation whatsoever so their paragraph is one gigantic long sentence and keeps running on and on forever and you can't tell where one thought ends and one begins because it's all jumbledtogetherinonebiggiantmessofwords.

Sadly, I could only limit this to ten. What about you? What are some things that you are sick of?

Scars

Writing prompt from Mama Kat's.


I found another fun little writing prompt exercise through InkPaperPen. Click the link above to check it out. Today: "Tell us about that scar."


Oh, so many to choose from.


As I have stated before, I am a klutz. This has therefore resulted in many, many scars across my body. Today, I will tell you about the two times my klutziness has resulted in stitches: once in my face, and once in my finger.


The first occurred when I was about eight years old. At that time, my mother, older brother, and I lived in a tiny apartment in my grandmother's house with a small kitchen, a smaller living room, and an even smaller bathroom. A minuscule bedroom was built for my brother and I to share, while my mom used the living room as hers. 


One afternoon, my brother and I decided to play catch in the backyard. Things were going fine, the natural back-and-forth progression that involves a simple game of catch. Suddenly, my brother threw the ball quite a bit further than I could reach, so I ran for it. This, consequently, made me look up at the hurdling ball in the sky rather than where my feet were landing. My grandmother had apparently just cut down a tree, because that's when I tripped over a stump and landed face-first in a giant pile of sticks, cutting and puncturing my face and neck. With blood streaming down my face and neck, staining my shirt, I screamed and cried, and cried and screamed. Mom snatched a towel to hold to my crimson wounds, most worried about my neck, and we were off to the hospital. The end result? Two stitches in my chin, leaving no visible scar, and bandaids for the rest of the cuts.


The second sewing incident to my body happened my senior year of high school, during second period art class. I can't describe the project very well, but we were required to draw a self-portrait, and cut it out onto linoleum using a tool something like an Exact-o Knife. My first attempt at cutting, I held the project at the top, and slowly but firmly slid the knife across the board. Of course, immediately after, I slipped, and sliced my left index finger open, which instantaneously gushed blood onto the table and my project. I ran to the counter next to my table for paper towels, dripping blood on the floor on the way there. Pressing the towels to my finger did nothing to stop it, and so I asked a friend to tell our teacher that I was running to the nurse.


At the nurse's office, she did her best to patch up the wound, but it wouldn't stop bleeding and suggested I go to the hospital to get stitches. Despite my protesting, she called my mom at home, who of course didn't answer. She called the next two people on my emergency contact list, who of course didn't answer either. Finally the last person on the list, my stepfather's mother, answered and came to pick me up. She drove me home, and it turns out my mom didn't answer simply because she was outside with the dogs and didn't hear the phone ring. 


We drove to the hospital, as regular doctor's offices don't handle stitches. The doctor numbed my finger, sewed up two or three stitches, wrapped up my finger, and we were done. Most kids would have been happy to get out of school for a day, but I was pissed that I had to miss the entire rest of my day due to a stupid cut on my finger. I couldn't just slap a bandaid on it and be done with it?! Jeez.


How did you get some of your scars?