Just Crazy (2 page)

No.

The only thing that broke were the glasses and the only injury I got was a cut under my left eye.

So much for glasses making you look more intelligent. I ended up looking stupider than ever.

But I'll fix that.

This Band-Aid has to go.

And today is the day.

I can't put it off any longer.

I grit my teeth.

I clench my jaw.

I take a deep breath.

This is it.

Stinging.

Burning.

Agony.

Pure agony.

More pure agony.

And I haven't even started yet.

Just thinking about it is painful.

What if my skin comes off with it?

What if I start to bleed and I can't stop?

And what if I just bleed and bleed and bleed, and the whole bathroom fills up with blood?

And what if I'm just treading blood and then my mum opens the door and all the blood surges out of the room like a tidal wave and picks Mum up as well as me and we go sailing off down the street and Mum screams, ‘What's happening?' and I'll say, ‘I just peeled my Band-Aid off, that's all', and she'll say, ‘What? You peeled your Band-Aid off? Do you think I'm made of Band-Aids? Do you think Band-Aids grow on trees? Do you think Band-Aids are handed out free on street corners?' And I'll say, ‘No, but they
should be because then I wouldn't have had to wear the same one for six months and none of this would ever have happened!'

But you can go crazy thinking about stuff like this.

Better not to think about it.

I know what I should do.

Stop thinking and just do it.

Fast.

Get it over and done with.

A lot of people prolong the agony by thinking about it too much.

But not me.

When I say I'm going to do something then I do it. I don't just go on and on about it. I do it.

Really

I really, really do it. Here goes.

I'm going to do it.

Right now.

Starting in a moment.

A moment from right now.

I mean right then.

Because in the time it took me to think this, right now became right then. And in the time it took me to think how right now became right then, right then became even righter then. And I can't start righter then
because that's already gone so I'm going to start right now instead.

On the count of three.

One. Two. Two and a half. Two and three-quarters. Two and four-fifths. Two and five-sixths. Two and sixth-sevenths. Two and seven-eighths . . .

This is not really working.

Better not to count.

Better just to do it.

Better to stop talking about it and thinking about it and just do it. Do it Really do it.

Now!

But first I need a pair of tweezers because the edge of the Band-Aid is so gummed down that there's nothing for me to grab onto.

I open the bathroom cabinet and look around inside it for the tweezers. I can't believe the stuff that's in here.

Baby shampoo, apple shampoo, antidandruff shampoo (that's Dad's in case you're wondering), hairclips, razor blades, a tub of anti-wrinkle cream (that's Mum's), sunscreen, cotton buds, pimple cream (that's Jen's — although if you ask me it's not working, in fact I reckon it's having the opposite effect), headache tablets, vitamin C tablets,
worming tablets (they're Sooty's . . . I think), a little container of weird-smelling ointment that Dad sometimes rubs onto his toes, about ten rolled-up tubes of almost-but-not-quite-finished toothpaste . . . Practically everything in the world except tweezers.

And if you think I'm stalling for time by listing every single thing that's in the bathroom cupboard then you're wrong. I haven't even mentioned the perfume, the mouthwash — Jen's of course — the lipbalm, the bottles of nailpolish or the lipsticks. I could have mentioned these things but I didn't because I'm not trying to waste time . . . I'm just trying to find the tweezers.

I open the first-aid kit.

Ah! There they are.

I take them out.

Now I can get this Band-Aid off. Once and for all.

Except that the tweezers are a bit dirty. I should sterilise them under some hot water. You can't be too careful where germs are concerned.

I rinse the tweezers under the hot tap.

I suppose you think I'm stalling again. Well, I'm not.

I'm not scared of a bit of pain.

In fact, I like it.

I thrive on it.

As far as I'm concerned, the more pain the better!

Sometimes, when I'm hammering a nail into a piece of wood, I like to hit my thumb on purpose . . . just to feel it throb. When I'm handling paper I always try to get a paper-cut because they
really
hurt. And I always make sure I lick my knife because tongue-cuts are even more painful than paper-cuts. But if you think that's bad, that's nothing. I've got a book called
The Encyclopedia of Executions
and there's some stuff in there that's a lot worse than that. Like, for instance, there's people getting boiled alive, burned at the stake, and stretched out in the desert, covered with honey and eaten by ants . . . but all that is nothing compared to the pain of peeling off a Band-Aid that's been stuck to your skin for six months.

But it must be done.

And it's going to be done now.

The tweezers are ready.

I turn the tap off.

I brace myself.