Things are good. Vegas was great. New gig is a ton of fun. Personal life is blissful. Lost weight. Then BOOM – you wake up with a big gigantic cold sore on the upper right corner of your lip and your whole entire face looks that of a victim. A victim of what? I don’t know exactly. It just looks like I’ve been victimized, ok?
When I was younger and didn’t get cold sores on my poor lip, I thought they were utterly disgusting and that the people who got them had to be the dregs of society. Now that I am the (un)proud owner of my very own strain of this little bastard, I feel the same. No, I don’t believe I am classified as a “dreg” but for a few days each year, when this little fucker bashes its ugly stick upon my face, I believe I may look like one and that displeases me infinitely. I try hard to be the complete and total opposite of a dreg – now, that matters not. I look like one and there is nothing that I can do about it.
Am I under stress? Am I sick? Is anything wrong? Nope. I’m fine and dandy and that’s why this has happened. I finally unclench and a plague upon my face is the result. Doesn’t this mongrel understand that my face is my money maker? I’m in Sales in NY-fucking-C and I can’t have a deformity of this magnitude living on my face. What, am I supposed to go on meetings wearing a burqa, or maybe just a Hannibal Lecter mask? Surely that will shift attention from my growth to my… mental state!
GAH! I hate this. I hate that this is my future and that there is nothing I can do to make it go away. Clearly venting about it will just bring everyone’s eyes to my lips (which are ordinarily super awesome, I’ll have the record show) but I don’t care. Anger must be channeled and so here you have it. My first blog in a month and it’s all about my cold sore. Carry on and happy dining.