Me? Ya You.

Day 13

Writing Practice

i was attacked by the fan in the middle of the night. I reach over to tilt the fan a little more in my direction. And blam two fingers jumble up in the orange plastic blades. Asleep then boom I up! One hundred percent up. Fingers wet. I curiously drag finger tips across my cheek. I imagine two thin lines of blood across cheek. I swing legs under the net and out into the night world and head to the bathroom. Fingers throbbing. Yep, two lines of blood across face. Middle finger sliced. Clean and bandaged I head back to bed. I breath in and out with the thud of two bruised and slightly sliced fingers. Letting the pain breathe through me just like Jon Kabit Zinn taught in Full Catastrophe Living. He says pain comes from tightening up, from holding our breath, from associating our whole selves with the pain, with the stress of imagined pain worse than it is.
I tell Maya this morning what happened. She is surprised I didn’t yell, “Fuck. Fuck Fuck!”
“Me?” I say. And she say, “Ya, you.”

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