Today, while attempting to walk my satanic mutt, I injured my right
forefinger. I cursed the heavens (and my dog) that I would receive such a wound. Directly
on the inner knuckle of the forefinger, I was doomed to be handicapped from writing,
playing the piano (not that I can), and any other activity involving my hands for the days
to come. While sitting on a closed toilet seat and nursing my wound with a dab of hydrogen
peroxide, my mind was fuming with argumentative retorts towards the powers that be. Why is
it that I always injure myself in the worst place, the place where the wound is sure to
take weeks to heal and will certainly reopen numerous times before closing for good? It
seems that Murphy’s Law is, unfortunately, constantly in my favor.
I always nick my knee when shaving right at the joint so that it takes
days for the small cut to heal and every time I bend my knee a searing pain shoots through
my leg. I’ll scratch my knuckles on a cheese grater and movement of the
aforementioned hand will turn into a chore. Whenever I get a pimple it is right in the
groove next to my eye or mouth so that smiling or blinking are no longer a reflexes but
tedious activities with much pain involved. And every time…. It never fails!…
every time I burn myself it is on a joint that I use quite frequently. This pattern is one
I do not wish to continue for the rest of my life. Once the finger was bandaged up I
ventured to the kitchen to feed the cursed dog. Like clockwork, the moment I moved my hand
to reach for the dog food bag an icy hot pain raped my hand. Damn the world! I thought.
This is very unfair, aside from being torturous and unusually creepy. After painfully
filling the dog’s food dish, I meandered to the living room to sit down and watch a
movie. Surprise! Even pushing the buttons on the remote control was an excruciating
activity.
While watching my movie, I found myself lost in thought and paying very
little attention to the vivid pictures flashing across my television screen. I thought to
myself, there must be a bottom to this black hole… I know there is sense to be
made of it! After many long moments of pensive pondering a revelation came to me.
Genius! Extraordinary! Beauty beyond the elegance of the Gods in the heavens or the stars
in the sky! I had an answer and it was the right one! You see, it is most
inconvenient to injure a place such as a knuckle or a joint. It is painful—agonizing
at times—to recover from said injuries. Why is it that I always suffer from these
inconvenient maladies? I have asked myself? Well, quite simply— remarkably, I might
add!— these awkward maladies occur from obsessive usage of the body part. The more
you use your hand, the more likely you are to injure it, and the more difficult it will be
to let the hand recover when you are so used to using it all the time. At last, I
understand!
2004
(Props to George Orwell)
A camera is carried forward. I stand there, skantily
clad with the fluorescent lights illuminating the makeup caked on my face. I’m not
the prettiest girl here. I haven’t got the biggest boobs, smallest waist, most
vibrant eyes, or fullest lips. My hair is certainly a lot grimier than half the other
models in this room. Instead of posing for the camera as the photographer orders, I stand
awkwardly. Instead of contorting my face to makeshift happiness, I glare into the lens.
Instead of winding my body into a provocative position for thousands of strangers to stare
at, I turn and leave. I can hear my agent yelling at me to return or I shall lose the
deal. I feel the other girl’s loathsome eyes burning through my back. I start
running.
Every pounding footstep brings about a revelation. We are consumed by
what we consume. Every cent I pass over is another piece of my conscience. Every fast food
meal is another tapeworm. Every brand name is another burn on my soul. We are born as
innocent, compassionate beings and society slowly melts away the goodness and sucks every
ounce of passion away until we are nothing. In the end we will all die comfortable, rich,
damned, and heartless.
I stop, catch my breath, and return to the photo shoot.