I tried at least

I was rejected to donate blood. And for the lamest reason. Because of my history of passing out. A needle, my own blood, and me cannot be in the same room without me losing consciousness. I feel like the biggest lame-o out there. My mom has donated most of my life. My sister had blood donation as her platform for her pageant. I wasn't able to donate for years because I didn't weigh enough. And now that I do weigh enough, I can't donate because I pass out. (I got lightheaded and my stomach turned over when she poked my finger. That's how bad I am.) But I wanted to. I knew all of these things when I went in there. I went knowing I would pass out, and wanting to do it anyway. So the fact that they had to turn me away because of it? Yeah, I feel like a loser.

As I was walking into the blood mobile (the bus thing that travels around to different businesses for people to donate in) I remember about the article I wrote for the newspaper last year. It really made me miss writing. I thought about the article I wrote that was on the front page, and the ones that followed. The healthy competition to see who could write an article so good it would be chosen for the next front page issue. The importance of gathering details and useful info for research. I really miss writing for a newspaper.

I spent all of last weekend reading a stepmom's blog. Holy cow, I am certainly blessed compared to what she and her husband had to go through. This woman is amazing. I started back as far as the blog did, and I am almost current to today. I don't normally do that, but I wanted to understand where it all had come from. Wow.