Marked Man

As I sit here perplexed by the inability of certain images to render themselves on the sideblog archive pages, now annoyed by the realization that it probably has something to do with absolute url’s – I realize that I am a marked man.

I have a pimple on the back of my right ear – the thin part of the cartilage – right at the beginning of the lobe’s descent.

I was bit by a spider in my room in Tucker a few days back. Left wrist, left edge, about three inches south of my palm. Several nights of unconscious scratching turned what was a slight bump into a red region large enough to arouse a cartographer.

My right foot, now healing, has for the past week been home to a blister – which for some reason took the form of a rice kernel. Wait a minute. That’s no coincidence — that’s the result of trying to flip cooked rice in a pan, even though the pan is obviously not a non-stick pan. The flip is thwarted by the sticking, which upon its ultimate release, flings the rice high into the air, whereupon gravity takes over. That’s when I manage to catch some of the just finished boiling rice as it falls, with my bare feet – bare save the leather sandles. Why stir when you can flip and inflict pain? And why not inflict pain while wearing leather?

And last but not least — a true sign that the freak out is currently running in full gear – the worry wart has returned. Whenever in full stress mode, I have acquired this really bad habit of grabbing a portion of skin located about an inch and a half from the furthest protruding point of my chin, then another inch to the right, no – my right, and massaging that skin. Turning it over and over again between my forefinger and thumb until several layers have worn away and a nice callous is brought into the world. Then my tic continues, its appetite increased, voraciously twisting anew at this wonderful bump that has formed. Such is the strength of my rubbing that the area surrounding this plateau is no longer arable for the five-o’clock shadow. A ring of desert surrounds this bump, no blade o’ whisker to be seen. It is something like an upside down uluru upon me – only I doubt that there are any beings who would feign honor my landscape as sacred.

In my peculiar situation – erosion can only be brought about by blocking the surface from the winds, or any other intruding element, by way of band aid. This is the only cause that will effect a cessation of increased mass – and the action must be taken forthwith. Thankfully I am miles away from anyone in my quickly vanishing social circle, feeling more and more lately like an ostracized member of the tribe (though rightfully so I must say, perhaps even disgraced would be a more accurate adjective for my current state) and therefore not needing to worry about the hazards of displaying such a hideous blemish, nor the awkward results of hiding one.

(dramatic sigh)

To bed.