Third Grade Mishaps (Blood Included)

Third grade, like all other grades, is a horrible year. The pressure begins to ramp up, you’re homework gets due dates, drama, etc.

I did lots of stupid things in third grade, such as color my teeth blue with a ballpoint pen; color my entire hand blue with a ballpoint pen; lock myself in my room for hours at a time without food, water, or bathroom breaks to watch ICarly; contract the stomach flu; throw up in the hallway and walk into a random classroom with vomit all over my hands and face; throw up in the hallway again; write a short story about vampires; etc. The list could go on for ages.

But today we’re going to talk about a particular story that took place in third grade.

Like every other mostly sane person, I am in an ongoing war with mosquitos. Mosquitos are horrible (they’re important to the ecosystem but horrible to people). They are horrible and don’t you dare disagree. They suck your blood like greedy vampires and leave itching bumps that swell to the size of plastic Easter eggs.

Mosquitos, on the other hand, love me. They leave everyone else alone and make a feast of me.

Everyone always tells you never to scratch mosquito bites, but I’ve never been one to listen to everyone. But in this case, at least, I should have.

I got a mosquito bite on my left forearm and it swelled to a respectable size. And I itched it. I itched it until it bled.

(Mosquitos are one of the reasons that I despise spring.)

But, thanks to magic and a Band-Aid, the bloody wound eventually scabbed over.

(This post’s about to get somewhat gross. Squeamish readers, click off now.)

Another activity that I participated in as a naive child was the picking of scabs. *Shudders* Don’t worry, dear readers, I don’t do this anymore.

The scab was about a half-inch long (“How do I know this?” you ask. I still have a scar) and it covered a half-inch long wound. (I’m going to call it a wound. It makes the story more dramatic.)

During class, I did the inevitable and picked off the scab.

But, of course, it started bleeding profusely. (What else did I expect?)

So here I am, blood gushing from an open wound, my right hand clapped over it to try and stanch the flow, and my teacher, under the premise that nothing was wrong, merrily teaching away.

Thankfully, a few minutes later, she gave us time to work. I went up to ask the teacher for a Band-Aid, but there was another girl in front of me. I waited patiently behind her, still bleeding.

She needed a Band-Aid as well. For her papercut.

The nightmare then began.

Me: Uh, I need a Band-Aid, too.

Teacher: I’m sorry. We’re out of Band-Aids. Is it an emergency?

Girl: That’s fine. I don’t really need one.

Me: … Yeah. I guess it can wait.

It could not wait. It definitely could not wait.

Soon afterward, the teacher began to teach again. (It is her job, after all.)

And I’m still sitting there. Bleeding profusely.

I lifted my right hand to check if it had stopped bleeding. Nope. And my right hand was coated with blood.

At that point, a classmate, let’s call him Earl Omega, looked right at me. I held eye contact and glared at him with the full force of the laser-firing armada located behind my eyeballs.

I can’t remember what happened afterward because third grade was so long ago.

And now we’ll never know if Little Arachnid ever got that Band-Aid or not.

A Stream of Random Thoughts || Bittersweet

I started this post planning to write about the wonders of bagged milk. I’m sure that when I put “bagged milk” on my list of Blog Post Ideas, I knew exactly what to write in a post, but now I can’t remember and there’s not much you can say about bagged milk without the proper inspiration (aka a recent argument about the wonders of bagged milk).

So I turned to our friend, the random word generator, and today’s topic is…

Bittersweet

So as usual, I’ll just write down words as they float through my head, the starting point being the word “bittersweet”.

“Bittersweet” is often used to describe dark chocolate, the best kind of chocolate. The darker the chocolate gets, the better it is, but often it is not “bittersweet”, it is just bitter.

Recently, while eating 86% cacao dark chocolate, I looked up the correlation between liking bitter flavors and psychopathy. If one likes bitter foods, then they are more likely to be a psychopath.

But worry not, dear nonexistent reader, I am most likely not a psychopath.

You also often hear the term “bittersweet memory”, which refers to a memory that is both sweet and painful to remember. It reminds me quite a bit of nostalgia. But let’s not travel down that dark and twisty path.

Let’s go back to chocolate!

I love all types of chocolate, even white chocolate, which, despite the misleading name, is not chocolate at all. I especially love the chocolate with liquid chocolate inside it.

I want some chocolate right now.

You know those gift boxes with mixed chocolates? I’m sure you’ve gotten at least one. It’s impossible to figure out what’s what. (Yes, I know they come with diagrams, but really, who actually looks at those?) And before you know it, you’re dedicated to finishing a chocolate that you hate.

I really should figure out a better way to end these posts.

the end.