Last night at work was bad. There were too many patients, not enough nurses, and I spent all night running through a giant mess of blood and screaming. There was a lot of blood last night. And more relevantly, a lot of yelling--pain yelling and angry yelling, but most of all the yelling that comes from pain but shows itself as anger.
How to get through it? The money's not nearly enough. The "helping others" stuff can get pretty abstract when you're "helping" people by telling them you can't help them and you can't really give them an ETA on when someone can, sorry. My rapport with my coworkers is nonexistent. What I have, then, what keeps me from turning to tears or rage or complete blankness when a drunk lady takes a piss on the floor and laughs at me for having to clean it up, is the bruises on my tits.
They're nasty and beautiful. (NWS of course.)
The bruises remind me that I'm more than this. I'm not working because that's what I do, I'm working to support who I really am. I'm not someone who eats and sleeps and works--I'm someone who still has dreams and pleasures. I am someone who sneaks away from the cage of tedium at every opportunity.
Sure, I put on a uniform and smile at people I hate and fill out forms no one will ever read. But these are only things I do, not things I am. And the bruises are proof of that. They mark me as a strictly part-time cog with a side gig moonlighting as a human.
It's not just the bruises. It's this blog, of course. It's all the time I spend and things I do with my friends. It's the red in my hair and my lack of panties. It's every time I write, draw, craft, sing, dream. It's every time I go out with nothing in particular to do, just to be out. Sometimes it's just sitting quietly. And it's hardly special to me--it's the reason we have parks and movie theaters and sports. Recreation. Re-creation. When the world destroys a bit of me, I rebuild myself.
I like sex because it feels good, of course. But also because it's an unproductive, unapproved, uncivilized, thoroughly self-indulgent way to spend one's time. How wonderful.
You're really on a roll with the great posts recently.
ReplyDeletewow to those bruises.
ReplyDeletejust...wow
Yikes...sounds like a terrible night and a lot of things that drain your energy and make you "not feel" in order to get through the moments. I like the way you remind yourself (and us too!) that it's the other things (other than work and being a cog in someone else's machine) that really reflect who you ARE. And I think you've expressed something similar to why I like extreme sensations, whether it's from an intense workout that hurts or rough sex or running outside on a cold lung-searing day...I love the pain that makes me really feel alive and not just a creature inside my head. Yahoo for your bruises :)
ReplyDeleteThe bruises remind me that I'm more than this. I'm not working because that's what I do, I'm working to support who I really am.
ReplyDeleteThis is exactly how I felt the time I was peeing in the work bathroom and realized one of my thighs was covered in stripes of acrylic paint (the "real me" is an artist...and I usually paint naked and use my leg to wipe off excess paint).
Anyway it felt subversive being at the office with evidence of REAL LIFE secretly under my clothes. :)
Holly, I never comment here but I read you religiously (as a kind of, you know, religious atheist) and just wanted to say how much I appreciate your writing and your approach to life.
ReplyDeleteI have to say that recently I have been in my head and having a hard time with ...ME. Then I read your blog and then *poof* it is the exact remedy I needed. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteSprite - It's partly a Stupid Anatomy Trick--he hit my back and butt and bit my shoulders too, but for some reason my breasts are the only part of me delicate enough to bruise way up with relatively little hittitation.
ReplyDeletePerversecowgirl - So tell me I'm not the only one who takes pleasure in having a totally innocent-looking artwork (for me it's usually a jewelry piece) and knowing I was naked making it?
I am utterly in love with your definition of recreation.
ReplyDeleteHolly - generally, secretly doing something sexy in an inappropriate or unexpected place is one of my "things". :D
ReplyDeletePainting naked doesn't hit that button too hard for me, though, because the nakedness isn't a consciously naughty act. I'm always naked around the house anyway, and I also find that no clothes equals way fewer fluffies and cat hairs drifting down into my work. So there's a practical aspect.
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ReplyDeleteI really feel sorry for you guys. My job may pay little and be rather stupid at times, but at least I can be myself.
ReplyDeleteSorry about the deleted one, just a typo.
Isn't bruising your body unhealthy?
ReplyDeleteOwen - Not really. Bruises pretty much just heal up without long-term consequence. Of course there's some risk to being hit, but it's not cumulatively damaging and it's very very unlikely to ever threaten or shorten life.
ReplyDeleteSeconding what Sprite said! Whoa. They're so...solid-looking. For some reason, when I get hit, I don't bruise in solid circles like that. I get all these tiny little red dots. It looks more like my skin's been rubbed raw than hit even if though nothing of the sort's happened. Hmm.
ReplyDelete--Andy
I love my love bruises. (That's what we call them.) There's something about catching sight of them when my clothes shift or I look in the mirror that makes me feel so happy and loved. And it helps remind me of the passion. Nothing wrong with some serious passion...
ReplyDeleteOk, carry on. (As if you needed my permission in the first place.) :)
ReplyDeleteAndy, in general, women tend to bruise more easily because we have thinner skin AND a layer of subcutaneous fat (that also contains blood vessels) under the surface (though there are differences between individual women as well). Impact damages the blood vessels and they leak, causing the discoloration, which hangs about longer and more visibly because of the aforementioned reasons.
ReplyDeleteI always liked my sports bruises too...badges of honor. Love bruises are just another flavor :)
Thank you so much for this post. It really speaks to me.
ReplyDelete