paper_cuts raze when i wasn't brave enough to carve red-leaking lines into my abdomen, i hit myself in the face as hard as i could with the ricasso of a black-handled butcher's blade. it didn't leave a mark. and i don't know what happened to the swiss army knife i found abandoned on a park bench when i was ten years old. i've made worse cuts with paper and wire than i ever did with anything that was designed to deal out damage. 221208 ... past "you need thick skin for this job. i know it's a cliche," the journalist sighed deeply. "but once that first piece of hate mail shows up you'll know if you can do the job." she paused to take a long drink from her travel mug. "it's cold by now," she laughed. "maybe how my coffee is always cold is a good metaphor. it still warms me up. i make it strong so it'll last as long as i need it, so i can go all day without a refill if my assignment takes me somewhere i can't. "you need thick skin, because the paper cuts, but you need a warm heart so you can make real, if fleeting, connections with the people whose stories you want to tell. if you don't have both, if you don't have a strong shield arm and endless empathy, then this job isn't for you." 221208 what's it to you? who go blather from