scabs

As a kid I was constantly in the dirt, kicking it up, getting it on the tip of my nose, cutting and bruising myself in the relentless pursuit of good times and high adventure.

I did a lot of stupid things: jumping off of rooftops, climbing trees and falling to the ground, jettisoning from swingsets at the park while in mid-air, riding my bike down trails that were not meant for cyclists, hiking in the park, playing Flag Football (or Touch Football in the streets, with plays interrupted by the passing of traffic) and generally covering my skin with scabs and scrapes.

I never broke any limbs or got seriously hurt. No hospital visits, no trips in the ambulance. My physical feats were actually run-of-the-mill childhood rituals. Taking the falls and tumbles toughened me up.

One thing I used to do, however, was pick my scabs. I had a lot of them on me, and they were always irritating. The way the skin stretched as the black, shapeless mass of coagulated blood held to the surface caused me to scratch my scabs before they were fully formed.

Of course, this did nothing to facillitate the healing process-- it only delayed it further.

There's something in the back of a young boy's mind, where he actually would like to see the scab come apart while picking at it, so as to discover that the wound is fully healed underneath and that there is no need to pick anymore because the scab is gone. My impatience, however, would lead me to pick away when the scab was 90% ready. What would be left after the unsightly spot was cleared away would be a small, infection-prone red spot, a pinpoint in comparison to the original wound but still open to all sorts of discomfort and irritability. That little red spot would end up scabbing over itself, and then I'd have to wait until that tiny little scab fully formed and was able to be stripped away...

Now, let's speak metaphorically for a second...

Suppose that all the past pain and tragedy that I have had in my life is a scab. If this is the case, then it can be argued that (like my younger self) I am still picking away at the scabs before they can do their work.

Only recently have I seen the results of letting them fall off on their own. The healing process, when unfettered by my prying fingers, is much more efficient. The scabs disappear and after a while I forget that I even had a cut or a scrape.

I have been holding myself to this thought: From now on, no more scab-picking.

Let the healing process take as long as it needs to take. I am in no hurry. I would rather have it done and over with than to prolong the painful interim of dealing with newer and fresher scabs born from my obsessions with the old ones.

See what I'm getting at?

btw: I won $90 at a craps table in Primm Valley on Saturday. I quit while I was ahead. I was too tired to press my luck and raise my bets. I was content to have had a decent run, which helped me to understand the game and grasp some concepts I'd been unsure about prior to this weekend.

This week looks like it's going to be pretty interesting. Don't ask me how I know-- I don't have the slightest explanation for this gut feeling.