Yesterday was like a heart rate chart. Up and down and up and down.

It officially began with a down when I snipped my finger (the one next door to pinkie) while I was cutting sticky notes for the students to use during their social studies projects to pretend they were real researchers (you know, walking around with books with yellow strips sticking out all over the place with their jotted notes on them). The bleeding wouldn’t stop and had the kids all tizzied up. Some had their mouths open in fascination (the scientists), several were running to tell others (the reporters), a couple had rushed to the office to get bandages (the doctors), one had brought tissue over to press the wound (the paramedic), two were reassuring me and informing each other they had experienced such cuts before and survived (the Oprahs), one was examining the scissor’s sharpness (the forensic investigator), a couple were muttering darkly about its sharpness (the unionists), one special guy was announcing the fact that there was such sharp scissors around a school wasn’t good at all (the lawyer), three were asking me if I was ok over and over (the therapists), four were still working hard on their projects after shooting a single steely glance at all the commotion (the CEOs) and a handful, a precious handful, were patting my arm with tears in their eyes (the gems). And all I was thinking was… a cut on my newly empty ring finger? I can get a poem out of the tragic irony.

Such is the mind of (the writer).

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