Tuesday, July 01, 2003

Where in the world did I pull Wally Lamb's name? I was trying to think of that story about the screwed up chick that was written by a man and it slowly but surely dawned on me. The story was "She's Come Undone."

Hey everyone. I can't stand Harry Potter. Put that in your cauldron and smoke it. More later...

I tried to give blood on Tuesday and almost passed out, twice. I understand that it is a good thing to donate a pint of blood every 56 days or so, and in a way, it is a very spiritual occurrence. I mean, I willingly let someone stab me in the arm with a large hollow needle and then I go and squeeze my own blood out into a little plastic bag. There has to be something spiritual in that, right?

But then I go and think about that needle sliding into my vein, and that sudden hot feeling in my neck and forehead makes me tell the nice lady "no" when she asks if I'm ok. And then comes the tingling in my fingertips, and the odd wiggly feeling traveling up and down my arm like a centipede. Over rush the nurses who crank my legs up at a 90-degree angle and apply compresses to my pulse points. After a few little cans of pineapple juice, and a slow build up to an upright position, I am taunted by the cookies just across the hallway, so when I finally reach them, and sit back down, I get suddenly nauseous at the thought of Lorna Doones and Toll House Chocolate Chip.

So my head goes between my legs as the dark corners start closing in on my hot face. Out come the nurses and a bright day glow orange upright stretcher thing on wheels which I move onto, Hannibal Lector -like, then they speed me back into the room of people squeezing out their own blood into little bags, plop me onto a lawn-chair type bed and up go my legs.

Okay, so I lay there for what must be a half an hour and all I have to do is sigh and think about how stupid I am. I read the little slides off the projection screen and it begins to dawn on me, I did everything wrong. Don’t drink caffeine on the day you donate, says the slide (I only had a few cups of coffee, I think). Eat two hours before you donate (what, like at 3 pm? Who eats at three p.m. I think?). Dieting and donating don’t mix (well, I am exercising more and watching what I eat – but that doesn’t constitute dieting does it?).

“How do you feel?”

The nurse asks the perpetual question of blood donation sites everywhere. “Fine,” I answer, “except my arm hurts and I’m upside down. I’m a sloppy donator,” I admit.

Anyway, I make it home, laughing a little at the song playing on the radio:

A tisket a taskit, I lost my yellow basket,
And if I do not find it, I think that I will die.

Well, I guess it was more than laughing a little, it was more like hysterical

Up next.... killer trees and obscene seedpods! (For a sneak peak, check out http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/eden/ and imagine watching some of this stuff after loosing a pint of blood)

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