Pain Threshhold

So you know that I can handle pain pretty well. Burns, even. You now how much heat loves me.

But these steam burns on my fingers? I'd like to say they're the most painful ever and I'm pretty sure I have, but they certainly aren't a 10 on a pain scale.

Which I don't get how anyone could be a 10 on a pain scale. If you're a 10, you're in so much pain that you absolutely cannot fathom the pain being any worse, and cannot communicate in any way how painful it is. I.E, you're screaming, assuming you haven't mercifully passed out.

So, these steam burns. They hurt. They REALLY, really hurt. But they could be worse-they could be spread over my body. The pain could've stayed as strong as it was, instead of lingering for that once missed key stroke. But even though it really did hurt, and I really was in pain, it wasn't a 10.

So to all those people out there who can *say* that their pain is a 10, you are liars.
Just like people who can *say* they can't breathe. I mean, I know it is easier to say you can't breathe when you really mean it's hard to breathe, but try to be logical here. How are you making noises if there's no airflow over your voice box?

But back to the pain. No one can say they're a 10.

You know

I really think I should start updating this more often.

First thought? I want to go back and visit my hometown, Pella. I really do.
It'd be a 12 hour drive with rest stops, and you* and I could probably make it in one day then crash, but the question is when? We* need to save up for school and emergencies and house and...

Besides, we* really don't have the money for vacations and it's not like I'm driven insane by this urge. I'd just really like to.

Sometimes I get it in my head that it'd be nice to move back there. To go work at the giant beige hospital as an ER nurse or even as a general admittance nurse giving shots and taking vitals. Go find my old house and fix it back up-it'd be around $150k now, the market is pretty good. Get a swim membership at the old pool and bike to the grocery store with the philosophy that if it didn't fit in the backpack, it wasn't worth taking. Maybe even attend service at St. Mary's just for the hell of it. See if that singer is still there.

But it'd be harder for you to find a job. Not much security work around there, and definitely no throwing mail. Not to mention it's a highly religious town that has this anti-Outsider undertone. I was happy when I was wandering around on my own, doing my own thing. When I decided I wanted to be social, they accepted me. Then again, I was also a cute adorable little girl with an open and honest heart, and it'd be rather cruel to turn me away. Even if I did ring your doorbell everyday trying to sell wildflower bunches.

I know that I more than likely like the idea of Pella, and what it meant to me.
I'm torn between the feelings of isolation and rejection I had at school and especially on those lonely winter nights when I built igloos outside by myself. The main reason though, and this won't make sense until you see it, is that the sky is so expansive. It's an abyss of clear crystallized blue. It's beautiful, but cold.

But I also remember the feelings of comfort there. I was able to move about freely, to explore, to experiment. I wasn't scared of the surrounding neighborhood like I was in kindergarten or sixth grade, and I wasn't confined (mostly because I didn't care) like I was in middle school and high school. I had contacts. I knew the town. I'm quite sure that if I was suddenly orphaned I would have lived fine in that town-I knew how to make money, how to get food, where to sleep, how to make clothes and blankets and shelter. I knew how to travel, the shortcuts...

I've never felt that connected to a town sense. The people in most towns I've never really felt connected to, but the town itself? No wonder it shows up in my dreams.

I'm rambling now, but simply said, I do want to go back. Someday.

*you know who you are, and I love you.