Tying the Knot

No metaphor here. I was just walking around and noticed that my shoe laces had become untied. Normally, I would just ignore an untied shoe in hopes that it might just go away, but unfortunately the shoes I’m wearing have EXTREMELY long laces and this was just not something that could be left to ignorance.

I don’t tie my shoes very often. I’m the type who ties his shoes once, loosely enough to take on and off, and I think that has made me take for granted how beautiful the act of tying a knot is. Sometimes I think the tedium of the simple things make us overlook the skill and sheer beauty of that thing. I can remember, slightly, learning to tie my shoes; bits and pieces really. One thing I do remember was that it wasn’t easy, but the satisfaction of getting it right was cathartic, not that I knew at the time what that was (or even now). And the double knots! Oh the double knots, they were like legend until you learned how real they were yourself!

It’s been a weird day.

The Grandest of Malarky

It’s funny how the mind works. Right now, which is actually around 9:21am central time, I have the Red Hot Chilli Peppers song Scar Tissue stuck in my head. Now I will admit to not being the biggest RHCP fan, however I have heard the song in passing over the radio many times before I quit the radio habit (not true, I am still an NPR addict). I have not, however, heard Scar Tissue in many years, so the question then becomes: how did it get stuck in my head? Now keep in mind I’m not writing this to define what makes a good song. This isn’t about the critique of music, as much as it is about the catalyst that brought this melody out from the depths of my brain.

Last night, and I don’t remember how we got on the topic, but it was brought it up that most people have a bit of scar tissue in the chesticular region (again not a medical term). That’s the only thing I have to chalk it up having this (queue Morgan Freeman) damned song in my brain (end Morgan Freeman), but then, that brings about other questions. One could venture to guess, because in this case one doesn’t know, and one doesn’t listen (one being me), this scar tissue is brought about by breathing and other such physically laboring activities. That would be the obvious “scientific” explanation. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m totally down with science, my problem is that I’m not smart enough to comprehend it all, and my imagination usually gets the better of me (thus all the tin foil hats). I suppose I’m bound to become a conspiracy theorist, although I’ve never really been into aliens, or the government, but when my old imagination gets going look out for some GRAND malarkey (that’s right! I’m bringing it back).

So here it is, perhaps this “scar tissue” is actually caused by emotional pain, such as heart break. Evidence: The tissue does exist around the chest region and that is also where your heart is located, it’s so crazy it just might work! Imagine all the loss, regret, rejection, sadness, etc. builds up around your heart and in effect creates protective, useful barrier against future heartbreak. In all reality this is just another way of looking at a very ancient metaphor. Who knows maybe its roots were scientific, but… I doubt it.

Not quite sick but surely not well.

In all honesty, I’m kind of hoping there is something wrong with my Thyroid. Of course, no one wants a physical ailment, but to be totally frank I’d rather that there BE something legitimately wrong with me, then, at least I’d have an excuse and wouldn’t have to take the sole amount of the blame. Damn, that was a long sentence. Take that grammar.

For those of you that don’t know, after much deliberation, suffering and gnashing of teeth I visited the physician for ye olde yearly physicalle.. Yeah. The deal goes like this: it’s not that I don’t like doctors. I know there are A LOT of people out there who get frustrated with doctors because science is never that exact and that sometimes it can take a long time to get to the bottom to what is ailing you or a loved one. Yes, I get it: no one likes to suffer or much less watch their loved ones suffer, but a good majority of the time, I think people forget that science isn’t exact and that doctors are human, and from time to time make mistakes. It’s a sad fact of life. Rant off. What bothers me about doctors are the needles; I hate, nay HATE getting my blood drawn, but I felt my body reacting strangely (more than normal) lately and it had been a rather extended period since my last appointment, so I decided to suck it up.

Bravely with cowardice I made it through the appointment, I’m not going to say there wasn’t drama during the blood drawing process however, I never went out of my way to stop them (it’s not my fault all of their needles mysteriously vanished that morning). After getting the results of the blood test back, the next week, I found out that I might be slightly hypothyroidistic (not a medical term), and would need to come in for further tests. Of course my reaction went exactly like this: Come in for more blood test?! I was hoping you were going to ask. In fact if you didn’t ask I was going to volunteer! Okay, so it didn’t go much like that at all, but reluctantly I agreed to further scrutiny of my hemoglobin and booked another appointment.

My next appointment was in the morning before work. I should point out that I am not a morning person, but I was feeling strangely brave after my last bloodletting and had “got this.” Cut to my next appointment; I decided to opt for giving blood from my right arm, even though Jeni insisted I should use my left arm with some hocus pocus about left arm being more directly connected to the heart or some such. To be completely honest I wasn’t listening all that closely, one of my many fun failings. My thought was: I had just had blood drawn from my left arm it was still slightly bruised, my right arm was injured from Kung Fu so it already hurt, what could a little needle do… twice? Yeah, after the first pull I heard the words no one ever wants to her, “let’s try that again.”

Now I want you to understand, I am not mad at my doctor or with his vampire… er… blood-drawer guy. I would rather ALWAYS err on the side of caution. I will say this, I survived. I am alive and honestly, I’m not as worried for the next needle to come my way.