Giving Blood.

I'm back.

I looked at the window of my old room and thought about my past, my present and my future. And I decided it was time to do something with the latter two, based on the lessons learned in the former.

Funny, former. . .the extra meaning that arises, as my past formed me, so it becomes former. . . hmm.

In other news: I'm listening to Air these days, and I love Alpha Beta Gaga.

I gave blood today.

Giving blood always makes me jittery. It's odd, and so I'm going to spend some time unpacking the sensation.

First off, it doesn't hurt to me. The pinprick when they confirm your iron levels is more painful to me than the actual needle sliding into my arm.

However, even now, on my fourth or fifth time giving blood (I wind up giving about once a year) I still experience this very strange sort of uncheckable anxiety. I know full well that I have blood to spare. I know it won't hurt. I know I've done it before, and it won't effect me in the long run in any way.

On top of that, the sight of my own blood doesn't bother me. I've been cut and busted up lots of times, and the sight of my own blood is neither new nor unsettling to me. And even if it did hurt more than it does, I'm not bothered by most other kinds of far more excrutiating pain. Heck, I study a martial art, I'd be an idiot to keep that up if I had a problem with pain in significant portions.

But when the clamp comes off the line, and that bag begins to fill with my blood, its like everything inside my head simultaneously screeches "Hey! I NEED that! That's ME in that bag! Give it back!"

And this sort of self-preservation instinct kicks in. I can control it, and with focus I can override it. But in the course of overriding it I take on all the physical signs of nervousness. Difficulty concentrating, nervous fidgeting, jittery movement, Deeper breathing, etc.

And despite the fact that I don't have any of the internal physiological warning signs that I might pass out (no lightheadedness, nausea, or dizziness) I still obviously look freaked out. As a result the nurses invariably do all the things they do for people who are going to pass out or throw up. They elevate you, they put icepacks on you, they keep asking "are you going to be ok?" It always makes me want to shout "I'm fine! I'll be fine. There's nothign wrong! I'm just panicking inside my head because the innermost me is freaking out that my vital fluids are being pumped into a little plastic baggie!"

So, if I could get over that phobia, I'd be fine.

And despite that phobia, I still try and give blood when the opportunity arises, because. . .well, it might be me bleeding to death on the table one day, and I'd like to know that someone else was willing to spend 20 minutes going haywire inside their own skull to save my life.

So I guess that's my message for the day. If you can give blood, and you don't at least once in a while, I urge you to do so. You're not just helping out, you're saving lives. Sure, tomorrow your blood may help out some random schmuck you'll never meet who cheats in his income taxes and will never make an impact or matter to you. But one day the life you save may your father's, your pastor's, your sister's, your fiancé's, your brother's, your own.

Think about it.