One a Week

At least weekly (though ideally much more often), I am dedicating myself to creating (and therefore posting) something creative and healing, like a poem or a collage or some free-writing mumbo jumbo (as long as it is not my grocery list journal entries that I so often write...) I'm not giving up my Myspace blog, because that's been a part of my life for 3 years, but I feel that I'm in a blogging rut there, the same old rants and raves against the system. Ideally this space will allow me to branch out into my more creative self And this quarter is ideally more conducive to this venture, with Mondays as my free day for personal healing and growth.

The History of a Scar

I'm not sure the scar has really faded, or if I'm just used to its presence on my face. When I'm lazy, often in the winter, it's hidden under straying eyebrow hairs, so when I'm fresh faced after plucking it sits there smiling back at me. When I notice it perched on my brow I think about my father dancing around as a kid with a hotdog, in front of a mirror. In my head it looks like the scene from Risky Business (which is the only scene I've even seen), but that's how my dad got a chicken pox scar: waving a hotdog in front of a mirror and the spare pig parts knocked into his face and the scab flew off leaving a small crater. My scar and his are in similar places and it makes me feel connected. Though the lesson I learned in it all was that you can do everything right, following all the rules (don't scratch, you'll get a scar!) and a scab can fall off in the middle of the night leaving you with a scar anyway. I can follow all the rules and still get hurt. At least it seems to be smiling, now.