The Writing on the wall

Severed Finger Leads to Crisis

by Brian Goodman, senior writer

In case you are ever in the market, stores that sell severed fingers are closed on Sundays.

I myself happened to be in the market this past Sunday, for severed fingers make great birthday gifts given by someone who successfully manages to slice through half of their own finger as though it were made of lukewarm marshmallow fluff.

For all of you who had been praying that I would never be able to write again, the Lord Almighty is granting your request on the installment plan. That’s correct — your humble correspondent was nearly relieved of my right index fingertip, one of the appendages I am most dependent upon in the day to day.

Like most scars accrued in one’s four to six years in undergraduate education, it was a stupid mistake rather than a heroic act that nearly claimed my fingertip. I was not running into a burning building to save people, fighting domestic terrorism, or helping Edward Scissorhands’s grandmother across the street. No, I was instead partaking in what has become my first and last pumpkin-carving contest of the season.

Of course, I was not particularly close to help when I happened to miss the gourd. Rather than carving pumpkins in Burruss or the hospital parking lot, I was instead at the JMU farm, approximately 25 minutes due east of absolutely nowhere — though after taking a little off the top, the drive back from the farm is significantly shorter than the drive out.

Four stitches later I was good to go, my finger under a cocoon of gauze and cloth tape. Every ounce of restraint I have has worked for the last three days to prevent me from wandering the Quad chanting the words “Rip…Slip…Brush…Ah.”

As luck would have it, I discovered that I do not handle blood very well — the fact that it happened to be my blood didn’t quite help, either. As stitches go, the whole event was therefore rather traumatic, and trauma has a way of heavily exacerbating whatever else is on one’s plate. In my case, that plate was full with what has now become known as my first mid-life crisis.

Like most mid-life crises, the first point of business was weight. While not unhealthy by any means, save for the string in my hand, I could realistically stand to lose 10 pounds or so. But in reevaluating my life, I have come to realize much about myself, including that I love food and I hate exercise.

My concerns over poundage were thereby diffused, but my self-reflection has showed me many proverbial weights I need to shed, such as people. There were people who broke into my house after I was discharged, took me out, and made me a shirt with the words “pull my finger” emblazoned on the front; there are also people who, though I have seen them almost every day since the accident, have not asked what happened, let alone asked if I am okay. Proverbially, it is time for liposuction.

These simple examples illustrate the fundamental truth that seems to underlie every mid-life crisis: that life is too short and too valuable to waste. Many of us, in viewing our time in college only as a means to an end, miss out on the glorious time that is college. We should not wither ourselves away in classes and apartments we hate, with assignments and friends that drain us. Re-evaluation is necessary for us to get the most we can out of our ever so short college experience.

If you ever get the chance to chop the tip of your index finger off, pass on it; but if you are ever presented with the opportunity to re evaluate your life, give it a shot. If you learn the lessons that come from mid-life crises without a visit to the hospital, I will personally be proud to shake your hand — in a week or two.

Brian Goodman is a junior communications major.