Thursday, September 22, 2005

Red Cross, Yellow Donor

I should be giving blood right now. I have so much. They are driving for it down the street, siphoning the students and staff for the benefit of the greater good after that Hurricane What’s-her-name drained so many unwilling donors. I should have already walked over there and offered them my unrepentant arm. I should be laying on a guerney watching “An Affair to Remember” and waiting for my cookie from the vampires.

But instead, I am sitting here at my desk, cheating the company and chattering away on my keyboard. I don't know enough about my blood to go and give it away. What is its type? Does it like tall, dark, and handsome? If it takes after me, not so much. I'll take short, blonde, and handsome. Does it enjoy moonlit walks on the beach and drippy poetry? I have to admit that a moonlit walk on the beach every once in a while is not to be turned down, especially if it includes the aforementioned short, blonde, and handsome one. As for the drippy poetry, my high school notebooks are chock full of it. Does Type O blood, being the universal donor, mean that a person is more giving and open, excited about new places and new things? If so, I am definitely not Type O. Are AB people, being universal recipients, grasping, wheedling, party animals? Or are they just sluts? If so, no comment.

My mother is a nurse. I asked her a couple of years ago what my blood type is, feeling that it is my duty to know, and assuming that being 1) my mother and 2) a nurse, she would certainly have the answer. Blank look. No idea. But she thought she could find out. This would be one more reason to go next door and donate blood. Maybe they could tell me. Maybe my blood type is the personality key I need to quit my job and just go ahead and get rich already.

Probably not. And my rationalizations and avoidance, my ramblings and my cowardice have made it certain that I don't have to find out today. It's after 5:00. They are closed. Oh well. I guess I'll wait for Rita.

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