Thoughts of my plasma

I've never given blood. I've fought it for a long time, telling myself I couldn't handle it. So it makes sense that I would find myself at the Plasma Center here in Tyler, having blood pumped out of my arm, shaken around, then pumped back in. I decided to start donating plasma not because it provides needed medicine for infants and burn victims, but because it puts $50 a week in my fat, greedy hands. Dolla' bills, ya'll.

Anyway, my laptop battery has run out, so no more wireless internet, and I glance over at the bag that is now 3/4 full and think, "I want that back!" I had this strange sense of ownership over my plasma. When the technician took the full bag away, I wanted her to give it to me. What was I going to do with it? This makes no sense to me. The thoughts were fleeting and certainly not serious, but it struck me as odd that they were there in the first place.

Feel free to tell me I'm crazy.