saturdays aren’t ever secret anymore.

I only feel comfortable sharing this secret because I know that none of the sweet people who actually read my blog will use it against me, at least I hope not. I mean, if you did, there’s something seriously wrong with you… But this week’s secret is, I am afraid of knives. Like for real, legitimately scared of them. I think it probably links back to a traumatic experience I once had. Picture it. Freshman year. 2006. There I was, nerdy, overachieving, 17 year old Jenna in dire need of opening a $90 graphing calculator (that I would never end up using in class) for my 9:25 precalculus class. I understand that it’s necessary to package children’s toys securely so that no parts are missing, and no one chokes without parental consent, but calculators? Come On! So here I am, fighting intensely with plastic strong enough to anger the Hulk (if he were to battle plastic…you get the point), sweat drops breaking out on my forehead because clearly if I don’t have this calculator for class, I. will. fail. So I call my friend Kimberly (another overachiever who happens to be studying on campus) and she says, “oh, I have my pocketknife; you can come use it.”

aside: Dear innocent Jenna, don’t go. Just go to class and write your problems down with your pencil. You will pass the class without the calculator, and you will never use calculus again. Love, future Jenna who only uses math to calculate sale discounts
Now, this pink swiss army knife of doom looked innocent enough, but alas, it was secretly evil. I started sawing-away from my body mind you- and the plastic didn’t do anything. So I applied more force. As you may have already inferred, Math/not my thing, so it never actually occurred to me that if I added force, it would increase something else. Like the chances of me dying. So the knife cut and slipped through the plastic and into my thumb. It was surreal. I could see a huge gap in my hand, but it didn’t hurt. I thought, “I am going to be late for class. Sigghhhhhhhh” Then 2 seconds later, my blood was pouring everywhere. 5 stitches later, I had a half-opened calculator, my first absence in college, and wounded pride. I fought the pocketknife of doom, and it won. And it wasn’t even my enemy! The calculator was what I wanted to take down! So fast forward 4 years, and knives make me a little nervous. I try not to show it, because it’s kind of dramatic and weird, but today when I was cutting cantaloupe, I cut my finger, so for the next little bit I think I’m going to confine myself to sporks.
Moral of the story? AUM doesn’t clean their bathrooms daily. My thumb blood was in the hall for a week. ewwwwwwww.
Another secret, I’ve joined this endeavor, and it’s pretty cool. Lots of cool people with excessive amounts of talent. You should visit often.
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