2003-09-19 - 6:22 pm
I gashed the palm of my hand earlier today with the wire I used in one of my wing projects. There's a 2.5 inch long deep scrape right across the skin, parallel with the lines on my palm. I didn't cry or yelp or curse; I watched the blood form from under the punctured skin and ran it under cold water. On the bus home I stared at it, examining the details and the grove it made in my hand. Gripping a piece of gauze to stop what little bleeding that came from it, my fingers started to get fuzzy and numb.
I'm home now, the cut has been cleaned and there is a dressing taped across it so I can continue to do work this evening without irritating it. It feels like there is a pillow strapped to my hand.
In a way this event summarizes how I've felt all day—hurt, tired and on the collapse of obsession. I feel like cutting myself off from the entire world, wrapping myself in the gauze-like setting of doing my work and going to school. Usually when things get like this, I laugh at myself for being so selfish, so self-centered in "being sad" for no particular reason, but right now I'm not going to fight it. I'm going to wallow in my own pitiful non-PMS-related misery until it eventually goes away on it's own.
It's funny because almost a year ago, exactly, I was feeling much the same way. Last year I saught therapy for a month until I realized I wasn't as bad as I had myself believing. This year I'm not sure anymore, but I'm not going to take the energy to figure it out. Instead, I'm going to use my paranoid, obsessive and self-damaging personality traits to fuel my art. It's about time I did something useful with all this frustration.
For the rest of the weekend, with the exception of tomorrow's 12-5pm work shift, I'm going to emmerse myself in schoolwork as much as I can. I'm so tired of trying to keep up with the outside world when I could really care less.
