Phlebotomist

Starting today I will every so often post here on my blog new essays, old essays, short stories and flash fiction for a brief period of time. I'll be posting every week, most likely on Fridays and if not then on Saturdays. Keep checking back for stuff. Here's an old essay from my site to kick things off.


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"Phlebotomist"
© 2005 - 2006 Charles Shaver. All Rights Reserved.
Written December 30, 2005
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Phlebotomist. It sounds dirty. Like someone that jacks off too much.

Phlebotomist.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Me? Oh, I'm a phlebotomist!"

"They actually pay you for that?"

I went to a phlebotomist today. That sounds dirty. She was cute in an ugly sorta way, like a pug pup. Ugly, sad, cute, pathetic. I always look away when they stick me. I didn't turn from the needle today. I turned away from her approaching mustache. Ugly. Hairy. Sad. Cute. Like a cat whose tail has been run over by a car or rocked back on by a rocking chair leaving just a stubby nubbin. Ugly. Sad. Funny. Cute.

Heartbreaking.

Even playful.

As she pulled whatever vital life juice outta me, drained me of my marrow, harvested dark crimson gold, I pushed my thoughts back to what I'd been mulling over in my mind as I awaited my phlebotomist. Was she phlebotomizing me at this moment? Whatever. Anyways, I had been sitting in the plain waiting room thinking to myself about all the writing I've done lately. I like this new stuff I'm doing. It's fun, playful, sad, ugly, hairy, cute, pathetic. It's a pug on the page.

That's when I decided I'm finally a writer. What's the difference between me now and me yesterday? Well, when I stopped thinking of ideas and started writing, I became a writer.

And I'll be damned if phlebotomist doesn't sound dirty.