Blister: (n) a small bubble on the skin caused by burning, or other damage.
One of my favorite things to do is to recall the actions of my youth and recollect how in the moment they seemed absolutely logical to me, and now I view them as either hilarious or in abject horror.
When I was in Junior High School I played basketball.
About two weeks after starting the sport, I got painful blisters on the bottoms of my feet. If you’ve ever had blisters, you know they produce burning, stinging pain that just does not let up.
So after basketball practice, when nobody was looking, I developed this sadistic/pleasurable ritual. I took a shower, got my feet really wet, and then I poked the blisters with my fingernail and peeled them off.
It was sick and icky, but in some bizarre way, exciting.
But it’s also why my blisters never actually healed, and it took longer for them to turn into callouses.
I guess the message here is that some people have the patience to scab over and heal, and others, like myself, find joy in ripping off blisters.
Jonathan’s Latest Book Release!
PoHymn: A Rustling in the Stagnant