Friday, February 15, 2008

Abscess of Malice

Okay, I joked about it on my last post, but let's get down to the nitty-gritty. I have (had) a cyst in the underarm region of my right (pitching) arm, which is actually quite as painful as you think it is. I've been in and out of the Urgent Care Unit all week having it treated, taking different types of antibiotics and huge doses of Motrin to keep me steady. I feel gross, yes. So why am I talking about it? I don't know, I figure that if anything crazy happens, you'll know what precipitated it >;)

I have an abnormality of sorts; this cyst was incurred by the materials used to make the antiperspirant in store-brand deodorants. Alum, for example. Alum is that stuff that Tom Cat or Sylvester the Cat (why is it always cats?) is tricked into eating and it suddenly shrinks their mouths into nonexistense... yes, it's a bit of an astringent, which is why it's included in antiperspirant; to shrink the opening of your pores into nonexistense, thus you do not perspire. That's cool if you don't perspire much. But in the real world, it's a bad idea.

This does NOT mean that I go around funky, it means that aside from washing at least three or four times a day, I have to use alternative methods to stay "fresh". Slick Rick had a good idea:

- Soap
- Toothpaste
- Lotion
- Nail file
- Bubble bath
- Johnson's Baby Powder
- Polo Cologne

Well, not that last one...

I do like to use oils, though. I have dark skin, which honestly can get rather ashy-looking through the dry day. Everyone likes sandalwood, but I kind of like Frankincense, Blue Nile and Somali Rose. Myrrh is a bit too morbid, and I can't understand why anyone likes Musk.

You don't want to read about how they had to pack and repack the wound... no, I didn't think so. So, as I write, I am bandaged and taking Ciprofloxacin Hydrocloride twice a day for the next two weeks at least, with further treatment to come. Irritating, but now not so painful. If only I could get some peace and quiet (and Medicaid!) I should be back in business in oh, a few minutes, since qualifying for Medicaid implies (rightly so) that I'll be broke in an hour if I don't get to work. So, all you PAs, PMs and temp agencies, I'll be talking to you guys on Monday >;)

UPDATE:

Fever of 104 degrees... dizziness and fatigue... random acts of stupidity... fever dreams of leaving your family on a whim to take pictures in an African capitol you've only heard of, or having your family move back to your favorite childhood home and recognizing everything as it was back then (though it's a completely different house!)... no, I'm not taking Cipro anymore. Me and the doctor are gonna have a lonnnnng talk...

Thursday, February 14, 2008

Holy Week

Happy Birthday to my sister Dorothy, February 13... Happy Anniversary to her and her Husband Michael today (Valentine's Day, how precious...) aaaaand Happy Birthday to Michael, February 15. Really. God seemed to plan most of this, and they took the initiative on the rest, good for them. Keeping everything neat and organized (and a killer way to remember her birthday and your anniversary, fellas) they declare the week that these events take place Holy Week. Stranger, much more ironic things have happened with my family concerning birth dates, but that I'll get to later in what promises to be a rather emotional post.

But speaking of holy, or more appropriately holes, I just had one scraped out of my underarm in the process of removing a rather unpleasant lesion. Not that such things are ever pleasant, but if it weren't for Novocain, I and a certain student physician would be side-by-side in traction right now at the local hospital. What an odd sensation, having someone probe your underarm with an exact-o-knife and not feeling a thing; especially when it's an area that is very sensitive in your body. I was very tempted to lean over and see what she was slicing out, but thought very much better of it. After all, if you happen to look at the time this article was posted, you'll see that I'm not taking this all that well, even with the medication. That and the neighbors with their elephantine parades above our apartment (with surround-sound home theatre so everyone on the block can know they have one) has made this a rather unbearable time off from steady work on productions. I'm contemplating packing up and moving to L.A. where most of the action is, but I've got to save up for home + car first. Oh, and acquire a first-hand knowledge of L.A. and its surrounding fiefdom.

I'm hoping that I can manifest a good ten grand somehow in the next two or three months, either through hard work or dumb luck, I'm good with either one. Good bye student loans, hello health insurance! Oh, and a much quieter place to live.

Quiet like my sister's place? I like to call CT Connectdadots, because well, that's kinda what it's like. Anyone who's driven from Pawling, NY to New Milford to Roxbury to Southbury and all the other burys in Connectdadots knows exactly what I mean. They have a place that always reminds me of a resort in the middle of the woods, with a huge, but cute Golden Doodle and a huge, but cute cat, both youthful and full of life. Since they consider each other brother and sister, it's obviously a sign of the apocalypse, but at least I can get some sleep there. I just hope they don't mind me being in a drug-induced stupor if I were to make my way up there sometime soon. Alas, it is Holy Week, so the outside world (that's me!) will have to wait. So I'll stay awake for another as the dull throbbing in my right arm and shoulder remind me of the student physician's careful, surgical invasion of a (formerly) erogenous zone, followed by a lightning-quick evisceration and obliteration of the enemy by her wise commander (with owies all around). Happy Valentine's Day! >;)

Monday, February 11, 2008

Snackicide!

Have you noticed these recent spate of commercials by Chips Ahoy! and Pop-Tarts showing humanized cookies being viciously attacked and kidnapped by an ubiquitous unseen hand, or by hordes of maniacally greedy, self-indulgent children? I have.
Aren't you tired of bloodthirsty, homicidal commercialism yet? What, being a cartoon means that it's not rooted in the truth, that it doesn't influence the way young minds think? Trust me, I've watched enough classic Tom & Jerry to to explain why I would even think on this level.

Indicative of ou
r society's penchant for short attention spans, I have completely lost my train of thought. With that, I am off to the lavatory to settle down with a good, long book. Cheers! >;)