blud.

^from the savannah archives, my roomie shawna.
i made an appointment to give blood next monday. the funny part about it was my hesitancy to do it when i've never had a problem with either needles or the drawing of my own blood before. i chalk this up to my last, horrid, blood-giving experience in savannah years ago. i haven't been able to give blood since.
it started innocently enough. naomi, shawna and i were traipsing about the town and we saw that there was a blood drive so we decided, "fuck it. let's do this." it had been a year or so since my last donation back in idaho, so i figured it was nigh time to drop another bag of blood for a good cause. as we three sat there filling out our medical history, the nurse informed us that we would be the last donors since it was "nearing 4pm." it seemed to me to be a bit early to close down shop, seeing as there were people waiting in line to give blood and don't they, like, need all the blood they can get?
whatever.
shawna went first, myself directly after, and we giggled at each other from our respective chairs as her already pale complexion turned a surprising two shades whiter. she stubbornly persisted with the squeezing of the stress ball though and powered through. my nurse had trouble finding my vein, stabbing me twice. (which was a bag of lies. every time i've had to give blood, barring this particular Incident, i've gotten compliments on my vein prominence. 'a beginning nurses dream,' they called them. i beamed with pride. i have awesome veins, lady.) once the tube was connected, my blood being drawn from my body, naomi sauntered over to tell me she was "a reject" because she was iron-deficient. she looked like a kicked puppy. later, she would be thankful she didn't partake in the madness that was The Disasterous Savannah Blood Drive of 2003.
my bag is halfway full of the most precious commodity next to money when the nurse decides i'm "taking too long." it's four o' clock and they want to shut down. she disconnects me from my bag and quickly applies a cotton ball and some tape and ushers my posse out the door.
i was pissed. i felt robbed.. cheated of my own blood, and for nothing but a Solo cup shot full of electrolytes, a free cotton swab, and a scarred stab wound on my right arm. the situation soured my outlook on giving blood for a long time, and only recently have i started the recovery process.

what else? oh. the basement gallery has "Noise in the Basement" up on a slide show. you can see some pieces of mine that aren't on my flickr page here.

and!
i'll be running another little competition for some free art in the coming week, so keep posted. i'll have more than two this time, so more of you should have a shot at winning something.

the status of my fingernails is more interesting than your conversation.