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Adventures in Biology

No, I’m not taking Bio this semester, though I’m sure it will come about sooner or later. What I’m referring to today is not the distant study of the human body, but the personal experience of when your body goes haywire and why it’s not entirely a bad thing for a writer to experience.

Unless it kills you, of course. That would suck and would totally tank your word count goals.

Don’t get me wrong, the body going nuts isn’t exactly going to inspire creativity, nor is it exactly conducive to sitting still and writing. What helps is the reminder of physical pain, vulnerability and seeing/experiencing things one may not otherwise see/experience – like the interior of a hospital (if one is not a medical professional), the repeated punctures of a needle by a nurse trying to draw blood from your stubborn veins, or feeling the peculiar effects of injected pain killers. There’s also the reminder of the drama involved in something that seems so scary, or horrible, only to find out that it’s not as bad as first perceived. There’s something in that to be utilized as well.

I got to go on one of these joyrides sometime after midnight on Wednesday. It was nothing serious, just my gallbladder trying to show me who wears the brass knuckles in my body and prove that it knows how to use them. (Don’t piss of that fucker – it fights dirty.) After the whole pain-fear-pain-stress-pain-anxiety-sleep cycle was over (which was sometime mid afternoon on Friday when I could maintain consciousness for longer than 30 minutes at a time), I got a chance to reflect on the experience and think about how this could and would likely enrich my writing. I knew a bit more about what it felt like to have internal organs get pissed off enough to send you to the ER, how a car ride that one takes at least weekly could seem to take months when you can’t sit still, the utter lack of pride when asking the nurse WHEN they were going to make it stop hurting because you just can’t take it any longer, and the utter lack of concern when laying in the same bed thirty minutes later and just not giving a fuck about what happens.

Is it sick that I’m really looking forward to incorporating this somewhere, somehow?

No, I know it is. I just thought I’d draw out the other scribblers. We’re fucked up, but damn is it fun!

Anyway, that’s my 2c for the weekend (since it is still Sunday for a little while longer). Time to finish folding the laundry so I can crawl into bed and resume my “normal” life again in the morning.

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