Today was the first day this week that I woke up and forgot about my nasty, busted-up lip. It’s not so swollen anymore, my nose isn’t tingly numb, and I can pretty much pucker and move my lips around like normal. Then I got out of bed, staggered into the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror and screamed in horror. Well, it’s not that bad, but it still looks like a big gash on my lip. Much better than Tuesday when it was so swollen that I looked like a Simpson’s character with a top lip that stuck out so much more than the bottom.

I occasionally forget that I am a walking curiosity and do something normal, like walk into a Starbucks for a morning latte and a reality check of barely-masked disgust. I know that perhaps I’m a little sensitive, but I always look people in the eye when I talk to them and I know when they’re watching my mouth, staring at my chest (ha! funny) or gaping at the scary wound on my face. This morning the Starbucks was full of gaping and I left there feeling terrible. Come on now! I should never leave a Starbucks feeling terrible. Caffeinated and slightly ripped-off, yes. Terrible, no.


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