kiffie dot com

Monkey Knife Fight

Part two of my update series:

I had a pre-pre-cancerous mole removed from my shoulder.  The mole itself was removed in August, but the pathology showed that they hadn't gotten all of it, so I had to go back.  I have an awesome scar that looks like I was in a knife fight.  Unfortunately no one believes me when I tell them I was.

The whole experience was a little disconcerting.  I was completely awake, but the area was numbed.  I could feel pressure from the surgery and the stitches, but no pain.  I also couldn't see what was going on because it was on my back, but I could see pieces of bloody gauze piling up on the tray.  They moved the tray when they noticed I was looking at it.  I don't get freaked out by blood and guts; I was really just curious.  Plus the nurse had a really soothing Irish accent, so that helped me stay calm.

Also disconcerting was the two inch long scar.  I wasn't really expecting it to be so long or swollen.  The stitches were all internal and felt weird and bumpy.  The last of them dissolved around the start of April. 

All in all, it was not scary, not painful and I like the scar.  A bit unfair, though, because I can't get tan without the help of a bottle and wear sunscreen every day.  I do feel totally justified at my freakout when I found the funny mole.  I called my doctor immediately and went in at the first available time, but my dad is quite cancer-prone, so I really can't take chances. 

Unfortunately, he and I also share the attitude that if they say that you do 90% of the damage to your skin before 18 and we're over 18, then we have nothing to worry about.  This isn't the healthiest of attitudes.

'Bama

This is the first in a series of "What I Did On My Time-Slacking-From-Writing", in no particular order.

In  mid-December, I attended my brother's college graduation and commissioning.  The Boy was graduating from the University of Alabama.  Apparently going there has some sort of attendant hatred of Clemson or Auburn or something.  None of the schools I went to ever had football teams, so I don't always understand.  Anyway it was a good weekend. 

We all arrived on Friday and went out to dinner.  Mom, Dad, Jenny and I were hanging out at the hotel waiting for The Boy.  He called and said that he'd be there in about fifteen.  He just had to pick up his girlfriend.  Of course this was the first that anyone had heard of a girlfriend.  Smart kid.  So he was able to provide thirty seconds of background and we were all left to be polite and pretend that of course we'd heard so much about her and wasn't it lovely to finally meet her.  Thankfully she was quite nice and it was lovely to meet her.

Alabama was very flat.  I'd never been there before and I'm generally open to going new places.  I think I consumed a ton of butter over the course of the weekend, but I've never had better grits in my life.

Now The Boy and I both work for the government, but his guvmint job is of the contractual obligation and unfortunate haircut variety, while mine is of the jeans, trainers and don't you think that tank top is a little low cut for work variety.  I think we have respectively chosen well.

Stuppid

In college my friend Sarah dated this guy who, while largely unexceptional and wholly unrelated to the story, got a letter from an ex-girlfriend once calling him stuppid.  We defined it as beyond stupid, so stupid you couldn't even spell stupid.

Emotionally, that's how I've been feeling lately.  I'm letting F make me feel like shit because I think it's some sort of penance for breaking up with him.  It's not.  It doesn't serve any purpose and it'll have to stop.  I'm okay with the break up and I really ought to start acting like it.  Yes, six years does probably entail a mourning process, but I think I'm carrying things to extremes.  It's hurting me.  I doubt it's making him feel that good either.

Still alive

For some reason, I'm always amazed when people act like adults.  It's stupid.  Most people behave like adults, but in my insanity I expect the worst.  Thank you for being an adult, even when I can't.