I just got an e-mail from my dentist's office with nineteen x-rays of my teeth which feels like currency or something, like trading cards featuring the fun parts of my insides. I've been thinking a lot lately about that religious belief that taking one's photo steals a little bit of their soul, and getting these plopped in my inbox between a press release I'll never read and a 30% off restaurant coupon i'll forget to use makes them feel so commonplace, when really, this is mindexplodingly insane. Those are my teeth! Those are my teeth. I can't see that with my eyes, and neither can you, but with a wrap-around camera and bite guards, boom! Body innards.
I got a blood test on Tuesday — which I was unsurprisingly the world's biggest baby at, even with the toddler needle my mom insisted they use (thanks Mom!) — and after a life-long fear of needles and being poked and jabbed, I realized it's not so much the needle that freaks me out. It's sitting there, feeling faint, knowing they're sucking a part of you out. Like, all of my energy, all of my essence, just being stolen through a hole in my arm. It feels like stealing! Maybe I'm more like those photo kooks than I thought, but speaking from personal Quest Diagnostics experience, I get the feeling if we gave indigenous people a Goofy sticker after taking their snapshot, they'd be a little more at ease about the entire thing.