see, with a pen I’m extreme

One of the signs that I’m getting older, aside from recurring aches if I sit too long in a weird position, heartburn from eating greasy foods, a vaguer recollection of events as recent as two years ago, seeing my peers get married and sire children, and of course my continual fear of death, is the fact that my scratches no longer heal.

I get scraped up at jiu-jitsu pretty often. My most common source of injury is actually rugburn – we practice on mats stacked on top of six inches of foam rubber and covered with cheap shag carpeting. It’s great to take falls on. The problem: any awkward tumbles or slap-outs lead to me abrading the skin on the back of my hand or the top of my foot.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” I think. “It’s not even bleeding.” And then I look at it in the shower the next morning and it’s scabbing over. The scab stays with me for a week or two, then flakes off to leave a sliver of pink flesh. A new scar.

I have one on the back of my right hand from the tip of a wooden knife; that’s maybe two years old at this point. I can see a new one slowly forming on the back of my left hand. I have no idea where that came from.

I’m the anti-Wolverine. People who know me in real life wouldn’t be surprised to hear that.

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Poll inspired by yesterday’s post:


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