February 26, 2003. 11:11 at night.
After the Math (?)
I have now successfully poked a hole through the dead flap of skin that is my blister. All day I have been peeking inside of it through the hole, wondering what it might be like to be an explorer of microscopic proportions, wandering the vast frontier of raw, regenerating skin. Danger around every corner, adventure just beyond the horizon. And everywhere I look, almost-exposed nerves sprouting out of the ground like shrubs that are extra sensitive due to the lack of healthy epidermis. Now I know how Leonard Betts probably felt while growing back his head or molting his body on the X-Files.
Let this be a lesson to you, kids. Never ever touch anything made of metal that might remotely be moltenly hot.
Neener neener, I just made up a word and you didn't.
And never EVER get shampoo in your eyes. It fucking HURTS. You're better off touching 500-degree metal.
Meggin suggests I fill the blister with ointment so that it will heal faster, but that just brings bizarre images to my mind.
It Hardly Matters > a
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I'm getting used to being see-through with you |