Hot

It’s a beautiful day out. The sun is shining. The air is crisp, but calm. There’s the occasional color of flowers in bloom, and the birds are busy flying around and chirping—almost like a spring day—except it’s the middle of winter. Days like this, I think global warming might not be all bad.

Since before Thanksgiving, I’ve had something going on every weekend. It’s been tons of fun, but I think my body has been trying to tell me that I need to slow my roll. I know my house has been neglected, and even though I finally got the Christmas tree out of the living room, the boxes of ornaments and wrapping paper are still in stacks waiting patiently to go to the garage.

Last weekend, I noticed a decent-sized lump on my back. After I let my wild imagination run through the fear of cancer (I had an aunt who died of cancer, which they first discovered when she found lumps on her back), I thought it might be one of those hard, beneath-the-surface zits. But, the thing started to get bigger, harder, and more painful. I had my son look at it, and he said it looked like a bug bite. Fair enough. On Monday, one of my friends looked at it and said it looked like maybe a spider bit me twice. It was about 3-4 inches long, oval-shaped, and warm to the touch. I made an appointment with my doctor for the next morning.

I figured that my doctor would probably lance the thing, but I had no idea what the thing was or what the treatment would involve.  She told me it is an abscess, and she not only lanced it, but she had to scrape it out, and stuff it with gauze. GRRRR-OOOO-SSSS! If you aren't familiar with abscesses or how you get them, you can join my club, because this is my first experience with them. My doctor said that they are caused by bacteria on the skin and are kind of like an ingrown hair. What. The. Hell? Apparently, showering daily and wearing clean clothes daily isn't enough to ensure this won't happen. The doc also said it's not really uncommon. "It is for me," I told her.

The first visit, she numbed the area, so it didn’t start hurting until the local anesthesia wore off. The second visit, when she pulled out the gauze and restuffed—yes, she literally stuffed gauze in the wound with the stick end of a long cotton swab—she didn’t numb it. She’s lucky I like her, because my instinct was to punch her, because that shit hurt worse than pushing Kane’s big-ass baby nugget out of me nearly 18 years ago. And, I still have to get "repacked" at least one more time. Uggg.

So, with the gauze-packed wound, the inflammation and accompanying pain, the antibiotics, which I usually hate to take, and my restriction from the gym until the beast within departs the premises, I’m not feeling like my usual spunky, chirpy, fiery, sassy self. In fact, I’ve been feeling kind of blah, and on top of that, I’ve got not one, but two cold sores, which I only get when I’m stressed or sick. I really think my body’s been trying to tell me, “Girl, you ain’t the yougen’ you think you are, and you better slow your roll, or I’m gonna make you slow it.”

Being the clown that I am, and figuring that I can’t control life, I try to roll with it and find the humor in what I can. At work, we’ve been cutting jokes that I’m growing a twin, which we’ve affectionately named Millicent. We’ve discussed the idea of me writing a book titled,  “Angela and Millicent’s Day at the Park.” I’ve also told some people that it’s the renegade tooth, chewing its way out of me.

So, this weekend, I am on house arrest. I’m chillin’ at the pad, thinkin’ about all the chores I could be doing, and trying to muster the umph to get ‘em done. Right about now, I'm wishing I was Samantha on "Bewitched" and that thinkin’ ‘bout those chores and a little twitch of the nose would magically get them accomplished. No such luck. All my twitching just makes me look like I suffer from Tourette Syndrome. It’s time to get busy. Lord knows, I’m dressed for it, because it’s just one of those days.

Yeah, I even went to the Co-op in this get up—which happens to be my PJs, and to complete the stylish look, I even have crazy mad-scientist-looking hair—and those lovely cold sores. Yeah, I’m lookin’ sooo hot. I'm not sure if it’s more hot babe or hot mess, but I know it’s H.O.T.!

Happy Saturday, y’all!