Burnt.

Sometimes I'm amazed at my drive to continue photography no matter what it does to me. Freshman year, my papercut hands met with a spilled tray of fixer. I don't think they ever quite healed right because they scarred over like hell. Countless times I've pinched my fingers in an enlarger. I've been stuck in the head with rusty nails while crawling through an abandoned building. Today may just take the stupidity cake. While balancing a messenger bag, camera, and coffee I decided I HAD to get a cool picture of smoke blowing in the wind. So from my nearly 3 year old pack of Lucky Strikes I lit one. Well, lit isn't quite the right word. I fought the lighter. I have never been good with Bic lighters, especially since I accidentally got high in science class in 6th grade when the flint wouldn't strike. The flame finally popped out and promptly blew over my thumb. I have a nice round blister on the very tip. Oh my god, it hurts. But given the choice of a superficial burn versus burning out, I'll take the skin damage any day.