i hate the sight of my own blood.

last nite i went out with my friends to a bar with one of those photo booths. we got photos.











































but then realized that the camera was lower than we thought.
so we tried again.












































i love these - once the camera started to go off, it was like we were on a roller coaster, everyone started screaming and we all got really giddy. it was beautiful. i feel like we all took a trip to virginia beach together or something.
then today i cut off the end of one of my fingers at work. i had to go to the hospital. one of my coworkers designed a bandage for me which i thought at the time was an excessive exercise in guaze wrapping.














but then this was the bandage that i came out of the emergency room with.














that and a perscription for vicodin.
my work called me later to tell me that they had found the part of my finger that i had cut off. that was nice of them. they laughed a lot and then threw it away. when i heard that they had found it, i was slightly embarassed. my roomate says that the part of my finger they found is like a souvenir. but then we were wondering, if its something you lost instead of a trinket from an experience gained, is it really a souvenir? what is it?
a memory perhaps. or maybe a ghost.