Suicide is not painless

At work the day before yesterday, I dropped a glass coffee pot and it shattered on the edge of a shelf, causing an impressive amount of glass shrapnel. I'm lucky, I guess; I stepped back and put my arms up, so rather than getting a face full of glass, I only have a series of mostly minor cuts on my arms. Most of them are shallow, a few are deeper, and a couple of them are longer than the others.

There's a cut on my left wrist that didn't even go all the way through my skin, but it's fairly long, so that gets three stitches. One on my right elbow, although not as long, was quite a bit deeper; it even had some arterial spurt action going on before the bleeding stopped. It got one stitch.

Of all the cuts, I find these two to be the most interesting and oppositional. The one on my wrist looks like a lame suicide attempt. It hardly bled at all, and I don't know why they felt it needed some help getting back together. And why'd they use stitches? It's shallow enough to use superglue. However, because of its location, and not so much its severity, it gets the most attention from my superiors and crewmates. Great. I'll have a scar on my wrist the rest of my life.

The one on my elbow, though, was bloodier and messier than the one on my wrist, but it got less attention because, I suppose, people don't normally try to kill themselves by cutting their elbows. Maybe this'll start a new trend.

Anyway, I'm in a bit of pain. I think I'll leave it at that.