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Last week when I was making dinner, I sliced a bit of my finger on the edge of a tin can. It didn't hurt, really, but it bled quite a bit (not as much as when I almost needed stitches after nearly fainting with an exacto in my hand). I immediately put a bandaid on the poor sucker so as not to contaminate my dinner and I left it to sit for a couple days. I have been working at a bookstore, and I didn't want to get any nasties in the cut, so I kept it covered. Since the bandaid came off a couple days ago, I have been pretty diligent about putting some of my dad's vitamin c rub on the cut each night or whenever I use some for chapstick. This afternoon when I was laying on my bed contemplating the day's events and why I was so damn exhausted, I started staring at my injured finger. I hadn't looked at it since last night and it was quite a shocker. All that remains of that fateful evening is a memory in my mind, and a tiny dark bit of skin that has healed over the opening. It has been pretty fascinating to observe, to be quite honest. All the work that goes in to making me work every day is just astounding, and it's only in times of injury, I think, that I am truly awed by life's little spectaculars. So, it may have only been a little break in the skin, no lives were threatened, but it was enough to make me appreciate my cells' goodness. Thanks guys. Without you, I'd be nothing.