my hands are cut and burned from work.

a machine fell apart yesterday. it was needed, and i thought promptly, so i set about fixing it, inbetween doing the job i was sent to do.

the machine was hot. i got burnt.

my arms. my fingers.

later that night, doing something i honestly can't remember, i cut my middle finger on my right hand. bled, so i got a bandaid put on.

i dont think when there is something to do. i go do it. i have this image implanted in my head where my hands and my arms get eaten by a huge piece of farm equipment just because i slipped or the gear slipped or something slipped and i had stuck the arms and the hands deep within the machine because we needed it to work right then.

she tells me to be careful with my body. i only get one.

i tell her i do not like holding myself back.

when i painted, or drew, or created something, it was the same way.

i made messes.

paint all over the place. hands stained. very often i was laughed at because i had stuff in my hair or streaked across my face and just didnt care.

its not life if you dont come out messy and scarred.

same way with the way i eat.

the way i eat food, that is.

dirty minded people i tell you what.

heh.

but. yeah, food.

when im good, i love food, i love being a part of my food.

i'd rather eat with my hands then utensils.

i only do this in private, though. in public i behave.

usually. my mom still cringes when she remembers an award ceremony dinner i was a part of.

when i was little i had little restraint or sense of self. my sister still laughs about the time i got mustard on my forehead.

on MY FOREHEAD.

so that is what i am like. i wish nothing more, sometimes, then to be able to close my eyes, lower my head, and bully my way through. to just feel and hear and sense. to not worry about the cuts, the bleeding, the pain. to just go.

to reach out and grab her hand and take her with me.