Ramblings about my cool scab and other equally important subjects.

One on my favorite souvenirs from my weekend trip to Lyon, France was a scab on the palm of my hand. 

…and I say ONE of my favorites, because nothing can quite top the French dictionary  pulled out of a backpack, signed, and given to me by a middle-aged drunken professor on the banks of Lyon's river when I used the excuse "je ne parle pas francais"  in response to his slurred and slightly creepy attempts to have a conversation...

ANYWAY. I suppose that's another story. Let me tell you about this scab.

Ewwww.   

Between Softball, Soccer, Basketball, Skiing, Snowboarding, and just growing up with my big brother, I've been dirty, scabby and skinned-up for the majority of the two decades that I've spend on this earth. In the last couple years though, I guess you could say I've grown up. 

We generally use that term in a positive light (such as, "oh Erin went to college and got a job and has really grown up!").

 Call me Peter Pan if you want, but I don't think it's always a good thing to "grow up". 

Actually, please don't call me Peter Pan. 

Anywho. Are you wondering if I'm EVER going to get to my point? Cause I am.  Sometimes I sit down to write and I can hardly put the words down fast enough to keep up with my thoughts—tonight's not like that. I've been writing for, no joke, like an hour now. But I suppose that I won't be arriving at my thesis any faster if I continue to ramble about how much I am rambling… (wow! I suck!) 

So. Scabs. I used to get them all the time… because I used to be doing fun, adventurous, crazy, dangerous stuff all the time too. The sting of a scrape on my knee or down my forearm used to feel so familiar. 

Just an hour or so prior to the dictionary-man experience described above, I slid down a massive steel slide that served as a sort of passageway between the street and the banks of the river that runs through the center of Lyon. (side-note: Every city I visited in Europe, EVERY SINGLE ONE, had a river at its center. I realize that this is not a coincidence… that these rivers were the veins that brought life and circulation to the organs Europe, and so communities and societies were built around it… anyway. I'm RAMBLING!) 

So I'm sliding down this slide. Sliding really REALLY fast. Seriously, somebody must have lathered that thing up with Crisco. Squealing like a little girl, I approach the bottom with my feet straight out in front of me—like I'm going to pop right onto my feet in a spectacularly cool finish. 

I did, sort of, land on my feet. 

But then I kept going, catching myself with my palms and face planting on the chilly asphalt below. 

and then I scraped up my hand. 

and it hurt. 

and now it's a scab. 

and it's AWESOME. 

Anyway that's ma story. Have a nice night folks :)