No Tolerance For Pain

I was reminded earlier by a Facebook memory that I don’t have a high tolerance for pain.

That soul-crushing weakness is woven in the fabric of who I am, my identity, my being. That hurt is palpable. Visceral. And it can appear almost anywhere at any time.

I’ve come to terms with that and have learned to re-frame it within my humanity.

From the post, I was reminded how my body responded to grievous harm after I accidentally poured copious amounts of boiling, fastidiously-crafted, small-batch home made delicious Chai over my left index and ring fingers as I was decanting it from the creation pot into an ornate serving vessel.

While I’m not averse to cussing or crass language, I don’t use it often. But sometimes, there is no other way. An F-bomb slipped out.

Fuuuuuuuuuuck.

It was loud and forceful. Escaped like a toot in a crowded, silent elevator.