Blood Letting

So. A new year.

I won’t bore you with all my ‘Gonna Be A Better Amy’ New Year’s Resolutions that are the same as everyone else’s. (Weight loss? Check. More patience with the kids? Check. Spend less blah blah blah whatever. Check.)

I am going to mention that I intend to give blood as much as they will let me this year, not because I want you to think I’m really cool but because it’s something that needs to be done and I hope that if someone else sees that I’m giving blood, they’ll give blood too. I’ll spare you the statistics of how many lives are saved by blood donation every year because they’re boring, but rest assured that it’s a ton. Most importantly, many areas of the country are dropping dangerously low in their donated blood and should an emergency occur, things could get hairy and people could die.

So, tomorrow (or likely Saturday, since everyone is going to be closed tomorrow), I intend to go to a blood bank and give ‘em my arm. Years ago, in college, I donated blood every eight weeks and so I expect this to be a walk in the park. It doesn’t hurt—the needle prick they do to test your blood type hurts more than the arm needle—and it’s over relatively quickly. You get juice and cookies and a nifty t-shirt, although I’m not really worried about the shirts—my goal is the coffee mug because, really, if you’re going to tempt me, tempt me with my caffeine addiction.

Good luck to all in their new years and may you all be as happy and healthy as possible.