It’s been an interesting few days. There’s something about walking around with second degree burns on your hands that just seems to complicate life ever so slightly. Simple tasks such as cleaning or doing dishes become slightly more painful endeavors and even things such as sleeping become a pretty interesting ordeal. First off, let me say that things are getting a lot bitter now, my wounds are starting to heal and some itching and stinging aside, it’s all good.. Like a bad sunburn, nothing bad.
Sunday was interesting, though, the largest blisters, those on my right forearm, decided to pop around dinner time, leaving me with an exposed wound of about half an inch by half an inch and an inflamed area around two times the size of that around it.. Good times! It wasn’t really much of a hassle until bedtime where apparently the healing process was setting in and my entire forearm was a burning, itching hell. It rather complicated the process of falling asleep because I’d sorta drift off, roll over, land on my arm and then bolt right awake with a yelp and, on more than one occasion, a slur of obscenities directed at whatever deity above you chose to fancy. By around 3 AM, I uttered the ever popular words of “fuck this shit!” to myself and gave up on sleep in favor of just sitting back and watching some TV because it was the only activity that didn’t really involve moving my arm and I had recently discovered that things were fine as long as I didn’t move around too much.
Now, as you may know, I consider watching TV about the most mindnumbingly boring activity on earth, and I usually consider night time TV to be even more frightfully boring than its day time counterpart. And Sunday night was no exception.. But still, it’s less boring and traumatizing to the mind than spending several hours staring into blank air – mostly! As far as Monday morning 4 AM was concerned, I’m really not too certain.. Having first scanned across the channel, checking out the selection ranging from informercials over softcore pornography to Lady Gaga’s newest music video, I eventually settled for National Geographic Channel because I thought if I was forced to watch TV, I might as well try to learn something in the process.. And learn a bit, I did.. More specifically I spent two hours of my life learning about the development of the human fetus in the womb from the point of conception to the minute of birth which is about as frightfully exciting for someone like me, who is not a woman in the childbearing age, as watching flowers grow.. Wait, that’s not true, I actually do enjoy watching my chili plants grow from day to day.. So slightly less exciting than that.. Besides, it’s like 7th grade biology lessons over again in fast motion. The only new bit of knowledge I really took away from the experience is that while everybody knows that we humans share 98% of our DNA with chimpanzees, we apparently also share 33% of our genetical heritage with the common daffodil. Though I suppose this goes to explain why the majority of women I know have a nice, sweet floral smell to them.. But I digress, what I wanted to get to was that the majority of the program was pretty boring and non-stimulating in any way what-so-ever..
That is right up until the end where boredom and lack of stimuli in whatever form gave way to shock and sheer, utter horror.. Because, really, what 3 AM special on National Geographic Channel about the miracle of the female pregnancy is complete without a depiction of the miracle of childbirth in all it’s gory glory? And I apologize in advance to all the wonderful, beautiful women I may offend now: I’m sure childbirth is a wonderful, beautiful experience and that to many of you it has been the biggest moment in your life or, alternatively, will at some point be.. But fuck me, it’s just not very pretty to look at and rather unsettling to boot. Some two minutes into the thankfully short cut version of the ordeal, I found myself visually agitated, pointing at the midwife on screen, yelling “WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO THAT POOR WOMAN?!?” as she was actually encouraging the poor, crying, screaming woman to push something the size of a large football through a cavity which really did not look fit to accommodate objects of said size.. And what is up, National Graphic Channel? I thought we had a deal that full frontal nudity was a big no-no on publicly accessible television channels? No? Apparently this rule does not apply to close-ups of the beautiful moment that is the actual delivery of of the bloody, gooey, screaming infant?
A miracle of life? Surely! A beautiful moment? Arguably! Pretty to look at when you’ve no personal attachment to anybody involved? Most certainly not! Traumatizing? Hell yes! Look, I’m starting to understand why my father passed out when I was delivered.. And despite having nothing but respect and admiration for women, you lot just earned even more of my respect and admiration.. No way in hell would I willingly go through something like that.. Having seen what I just saw, I’ve concluded that you’re fucking crazy for doing it but it’s your craziness that keeps our species alive.. And it was about right after having made those conclusions that I decided that I’d had enough and shielded my eyes with my forearm to get away from the carnage.. And yes, that’s right, the wrong forearm of course, causing my to instead stare right into my own oozing wounds, forcing another loud declaration of “FUCK THIS SHIT!” and a snap decision that TV was overrated and that maybe just staring at the wall or, alternatively, the ceiling for the rest of the night wasn’t that bad of a thing to be doing after all..
Thanks for the memories, National Geographic Channel!