A Shine to It

I Can't Draw so I Write Instead

I’ve been donating plasma recently. I wanted to get a new PC and I didn’t feel right buying something that frivolous when I’m not contributing financially. It’s an interesting thing, you get paid for your time because they can’t pay you for your body. That’s illegal. But the money is tax free.

I’m making $650 for my first month, with one donation left. After your first month of donations, you get roughly $50 a trip if you make two a week. $30-50 an hour depending on how fast your body pumps it out. It’s also necessary for a lot of medical procedures. The disclaimers you read are thorough, but can be a little intimidating.

One of the employees there is miserable. I know the look well, he hates being there. He hates everything about his job. He’s never outright rude, but he radiates suffering. He’s also in charge of getting my blood out and back into me minus the plasma. There are a lot of people selling their time in that building that are doing it because they don’t have a choice.

A More Perfect Union

Donating plasma hurts and I’m a little weak after. It’s a discomfort the whole time. I’ve long since lost the desire to labor under the delusion that things aren’t painful. I got a tattoo and that was painful too. I’m getting needles stuck in me and manually pumping my blood. None of that is comfortable. Pain doesn’t have to be big to be real.

It also affords me the time to stop and read a book. I’ve read the first two and a half books of Sally Green’s Half-Bad trilogy. The Netflix series, criminally cancelled after one season, The Bastard Son and the Devil Himself was based on these books. The show was better than the books, but judging on how bad Netflix has butchered shows after the first season maybe they did me a favor. Season two of Shadow and Bone was worse than any book Leigh Bardugo has written.

I am grateful I will see how one version of this story ends, even if I never get an end to the other that started me on this particular journey. I’m still holding out hope for season 2 of Lookism, which is one of the best explorations of bullying I’ve ever seen. The long running manwha it is based on apparently goes in some really weird directions. Hopefully Netflix allows a second season to at least bring some closure to a powerful story.

Back on topic, donating plasma gives me the time and space to read things I wouldn’t do if I weren’t stuck on a reclining chair pumping blood out of of my veins and waiting for the cool, clear liquid to return at the end. So I am stuck with a bit of a conundrum, will I continue when I’ve paid my debt for this PC? I’ve thought about it and I’m not sure where I land.

Most of this time away from working has afforded me space to work through deep wounds and processing a lot of stuff I just never had time to before. It’s letting me play games I’ve wanted to play, to improve my marriage in the best ways. Learn to bake and cook things I’ve always wanted to but never had the time.

Waste Away Again

Time is something that dominates my brain. How do I use mine effectively? What is a good use of it? I know how miserable that guy is, because I’ve been that guy at every job I’ve ever had. I learned to act from a very young age, so I was better at hiding it than he is. But I do worry about my life will be like when I have to get back into the work force.

My most marketable skills aren’t things I like about myself. They aren’t things I enjoy doing. But they are effective. They feel like a waste of my time. The good use of my skills has been devalued by people who understand that education is the bane of exploitation. Why do you think conservatives wage war on education? Why do people become more progressive when they are better educated? Indoctrination or exposure?

I’m having a board game potluck tonight so I need to get my house ready for people to come over. Right now, that feels like the best use of my time.

Here’s an hour of music I listened to while I wrote this tangential mess: