The Story of My Right Arm

You may know me, or you may be just passing through, or you may be both. Know me or not, I'd like to introduce you to my right arm. This is part of an 11 part series. Enjoy!

A little numbness in my right arm, followed by a modicum of dull pain that eventually dissipates over several hours. My right hand is in top form, except for a long scar on the back of the hand up to the wrist. That scar is there because of a very poor stitching job in the ER. The cut that required stitches was done by me one day at work years ago. I sliced my hand with a razor blade that I was using to scrape errant paintdrops off the windows before I washed them. I was a window washer. Anyway, it was one hell of a cut. I cut so deeply because of a bizarre logic I was chasing, which I'll soon relate.

The knuckles of the fingers on my right hand are very enjoyable to crack, much to the consternation of my beloved. Both hands are ice cold, probably related to one or all of my medications.

My right elbow is nice and smooth, with no dead or loose skin. Happy day. But higher up, above the elbow, there is very loose skin that came as the result of losing 190 pounds in the last few years. I'd like to have it removed, and may try to do so myself (I have a Time-Life book that covers every "at-home" surgery). It feels vain, to want loose skin surgically removed, but it is something other than vanity. I'm not that exercise will help, but only if I engage in a rather extreme program of muscle building.

I don't want to be in an extreme program of muscle anything.

On the hairy front, my arm is within the parameters of "normal." Some arms have less hair, most have the same amount, or more. Aesthetically, it's an average arm of two skin tones which meet near a border town called, "Hosluphica." Also known as my elbow. My right forearm is tanned a bit from my rare moments in the sun. My upper arm is as white as the alabaster on an ancient Egyptian King's sarcophagus.

One side of Hosluphica faces a white plain that extends to the shoulder and beyond. The other side faces a forest of hair growing from within the most tanned skin one could find on my body. Hosluphica is also the spot where three bones meet up to get down; the humerus, ulna and radius.

In medical terms, there is nothing remarkable about my right arm.

If I were wanted by the FBI, or perhaps Interpol, they might mention the scar on my wrist. Or as a method of identifying my body.

I'm right-handed, so it does most of the work; masturbating, letter-writting, nose-picking and ass-wiping in particular. I also wave and shake hands with it.

So the reason for my cutting so deeply in my beloved right hand and wrist is strongly connected to my being a lunatic. I had gotten it into my mind that I was evil, and I needed to protect myself from myself, and maybe the world, too. I had planned to mutilate both hands, but the nine stitch cut I provided had the effect of robbing the project of its allure. Both the goal and the means were examined and rejected.