Welcome to my Monday, Matt Smith.
Have you ever made a startling discovery about yourself, only to find out that you already knew? This is only slightly different than making a startling discovery about yourself, and finding out that everyone else around you already knew. I haven't had that experience yet -- although I must admit that I do say things aloud, like "I hate people" or "I have power issues," and people seem to know that. I guess I must give off that people-hating, power-hungry vibe.
I'm vain.
No, no. Don't argue. I am. I know it. I'm vain. And not in that "you probably think this song is about you" way. (That, of course, makes no sense. As Carrie Fisher said, "'But it IS about him -- so, does that mean he's less vain?")
I'm so vain, I WROTE the song about me.
For the past week, I've been nursing my damaged vanity as I watched a bump on my neck get larger and larger. I have no idea what it is ("It's cancer," I say to my co-workers. "I'm going to die"), but it's ugly. I know that I'm the only one who notices it all that much -- and maybe Matt, although it's not like the boy sits around and stares at my neck on a daily basis -- but it's there. And I know it's there. And it's getting bigger.
It's a cist. Or maybe a wart.
Whatever it is, I don't like it being there. I want it to leave. I want it to be frozen off or snipped or mailed to Abu Dabi or whatever they do to these sorts of things.
I could chalk it up (chalk it up? why not pen it up? and why can't it be down? you boil things down, but you chalk them up and it all means the same thing... stupid, stupid Americans) to being "in the theatre," but I don't think that's what it is. I think it's just that I know I'm nice to look at, and this lump is obstructing the view.
I suppose I'll just have to go on poking at it, making it redder and redder and redder, until Starbucks comes through with the health insurance.
Love and Indiana Jones,
Meredith
Monday, June 20, 2005
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
3 comments:
You'd think they'd have one of those here, wouldn't you. Hmmm... And people wonder why no one wants to live in Pittsburgh.
so the thing about you moving to canada and back and me switching cell phones a couple of times in that process means I don't have your current phone #. That made me sad today. That also made poor Cheryl, who now has one of your old #'s apparently, sad too, because she felt bad that a friend was unable to wish another happy birthday. So now, I just have to post to your blog and hope that you see it. Happy birthday, Caesar
you know, there is a mark of vanity that you could find on your palm (as a professional, I know these things... besides, I have it... go figure).
And, yes, go to the clinic. No, I'm serious. I don't care that you don't have time. I don't care if it's raining and your sunroof leaks. I don't care about the wild dogs outside your door (or whatever other excuse there is). GO!
Post a Comment