I think the poison is receding: hard to tell. The last day and night were pretty rough. Woke up three times last night to puke up some sort of blackish liquid (sorry - too graphic). Bones are aching, and I'm still a bit lightheaded, but the red streak is no longer visible on my arm. The only visible symptom left is the swollen hand. The pressure building inside the tissue has caused the space between my fingers to turn deep red; as if I were wearing steel rings around the first three fingers and then heated the steel until it burned my skin.
I pause to consider the worst-case scenario. I don't think this will kill me, but there is still some chance that I could lose my left hand. What would I do if that happened? Option 1: tell them to leave the dead stubs there; I'd rather have a hand worth looking at than a hand that is useful. Option 2: replace the dead hand with a mechanical one; I'd rather have a hand that is useful than a hand that looks pretty. In my mind, I choose the first option. Why would I do this?
Because ... I fear ... HER.
I fear her reaction. I fear her ability to accept me in spite of such a flaw. I fear that she would no longer see me as attractive and worthwhile. I fear losing any chance to win her heart.
Okay - reality check - what in the world has happened to my FRAKKIN' priorities? Regardless of whether or not this situation becomes reality, why should I care about her opinion? Why would her opinion matter more to me than my own comfort? After all, isn't human nature, at it's very core, hedonistic?
This is a thought I cannot dismiss.
Do I fear her, because I admire her, or
Do I admire her, because I fear her?
To put it another way,
Do I fear her criticism, because I admire her opinion (the way she thinks), or
Do I admire her power (over me), because she can inspire fear (and a host of other feelings) in me?
She did not do this to me - I have done it to myself.
I reached deep into my chest, and pulled out my bruised and beating heart, for her casual inspection.
I pulled the dagger from my boot, pointed the tip at my heart, wrapped her hand around the pommel, and hoped that she would "be careful with it".
One flick of her wrist, and she could cut me. One false move, and she could rend me completely.
I have given her this power. It is a strange gift, but it is the most precious thing I can offer.
<< This is my way of saying that "I trust you". >>
<< For some reason, I just want to believe in you. >>