It's really quite morbid that I was secretly a little glad my throbbing finger woke me so that I could get a good look at the two holes the needle made and then of course clean it and put lydocaine and a new band-aid. I have always been a bit like a little kid. Cry out in pain when it happens then constantly peeling back the bandage. Poking the wound. Peeling the healing sunburn. Squeezing the puss from an infection. Okay yes that's enough. I'm an odd person.
I also have been fascinated by monsters and creatures. I didn't really tell people why I became so interested. Fear. As my friends and peers were growing out of childish fears of the dark, vampires, werewolves and such, mine stayed. Until I was much older than I would like to admit. Of course, I now understand my anxiety issues started long ago and these were warning signs. This particular fear drove me to try to face it. Even though it persisted into young adulthood I began to gain more control. I learned how movie monsters were made. I read the classic novels, Frankenstein, Dracula, The Phantom Of The Opera. I read Mary Shelly's writings about how she gained the seeds of her story. I was often still afraid into full adulthood but the more I knew how to make my own monsters (make-up) the less it controlled me. Halloween decorating and costume making was therapy. How similar that is to some of the early traditions of the celebration, masquerading as a spirit so one could safely walk among them. How many wonderful memories the hobby of costume making has given me since then. How my wife Tina Smelbatoast Mair and I could do it together because it combined skill sets that we both had. How we both gained new skills from each other and from others when neither of us could solve a problem we came upon.
So maybe my fascination with the gross things like puss and such comes from a fear of mortality. That's ok. If it means I want to live, cool. It probably also means that I am gaining something from it all that I haven't recognized yet. And werewolves are cool.