Hate To Love It

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I would like to blame this perverse obsession on my days of nursing classes, but it started long before then.

For as long as I can remember, I have been obsessed with exploring, lancing and draining infected wounds. I. Love. It.

At the first signs of a boil, impacted infection or festering injury, I will whip out my scalpel and starting draining, squeezing, disinfecting and bandaging. This is often occupanied with cries of pain and agony, but I manage to talk people through it. Explain exactly what I am doing and how it will help them, whether I am telling the truth or not, they usually believe me.

When they whine, I tell them to hush, or simply shove something in their mouth. There is not time for quibbling! This is for your own good! Besides, most of pain is mental.


Until Porkchop has her own infected finger. That she cannot bend. That is swollen and horrible. That is giving her great pain. Then, pain suddenly becomes excruciatingly important. Suddenly all my mental-pain-mantra's come flooding back to me and I want to cut the offending appendage OFF.

Percocet, anyone?

2 Responses to “Hate To Love It”

  1. Blogger Mister Underhill 

    This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

  2. Blogger Mister Underhill 

    We are made for each other. I have been seeking someone to squeeze and drain my neck boils regularly for years, now!

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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