Mystical cystical.

The fuck? There's nothing mystical about a cyst. I've been coming to terms that I lost my shit last weekend. And I knew that going into this week, it'd be rough. But so far, I've managed to get a new phone in the mail, my spare car key sent from home, new keys for the house, a temporary license e-mailed to me, and my new cards are on the way. But if my cookies couldn't get any soggier, I have to deal with the cyst on my tummy.*
*I almost forgot to mention another stolen item from last Saturday. I borrowed A/P/G's phone Tuesday afternoon to get ahold of a detective that wanted to ask me further questions about my stolen items. Apparently he tried to contact me via biffle nugget and mother. He wanted to know, for some odd reason, the serial number for my stolen mobile device. I figured I could find this out from my camera after my mom told me to take a picture of it for my records considering I was mailing the serial number and the portion of the box it was on into the rebate center, which I did weeks ago. I went to go look for my camera in my room when I realized that too was in my bag that was taken out of my friend's car at practice. Wow. When shit couldn't have gotten any worse. I had a mini freak-out sesh in the apt where my friend didn't know how to console me. I couldn't blame her. I wanted to break something/cry/whine/call my mom/curb stomp whoever stole our stuff in the first place.

I first noticed this nugget planet under my belly button when I was in Oz. Since I was younger I have been prone to getting these on my arms and one on my leg. My mom was worried so had me get them removed as to not have them turn into anything malignant. I'm sure they weren't but they would still come until they reached a hiatus for a short time. I got one on my arm and it was close to the surface of my skin so it hurt pretty bad if anyone ever poked me there or I was lathering up in the showah. I got it removed and it left me with a saturn-shaped scar on the side of my arm. It's a conversation starter just like the little "critters" or "boats" on my right arm. Since I do crew, it only makes sense that they are boats and I have two scars near each other so it looks like they're racing, with my wrist being the finish line...my boat always wins :)

But this one on my tum tum recently had been hurting and was kinda getting big. I didn't think much of it last week until it was starting to hurt more and more this week. It started looking like a fluid-filled sac. I freaked out and made an appointment at the Health Services center near campus. After people-watching the student receptionist as she laughed at pictures on Facebook (What? I had to keep myself preoccupied while I didn't have a phone to surf the Web with at the time), they told me I had to go to the ER and to get it drained.

God bless you? The marble under my belly button needs to be drained? Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't realize my body was giving birth to an alien. And I was gearing myself up for yet another scar...awesome. What would suck is that if that did happen, I would've been stuck with a C-section type scar and I didn't even get fucking pregnant. But after waiting in the ER waiting room for an hour and a half, the physician's assistant who looked at it said, "It's not ready yet...It's not angry."

Huh?

"You see, it's still hard underneath. I don't wanna drain it. I'm so sorry (as she's pinching the 2cm planet )."
- "It's ok."
"I'm gonna put you on some antibiotics for two weeks. And put hot compresses on it as well. The heat and antibiotics will help the cyst drain on its own internally."

Is that supposed to leak out of my ass? Christ.

I shoulda knew what a hot compress was before I attempted to give myself third degree burns. Tuesday night I came home from Tor Tor's birthday celebwashun and wanted to put something hot on my tummy. I took this small washcloth outta the bathroom and chucked it into the microwave for 60 seconds while I took a piss in the bathroom. Upon my return to the kitchen, my roommate proceeds to go to the kitchen and ask, "What'd you burn?" curiously. When I took it out, there were three burning holes in it and it was smoking. I'm sooo smart, aren't I? Guess a hot compress is like a damp washcloth that's been heated or placed in warm water, then placed on the aching muscle or in my case, explosive-looking cystical area of the body.

I just really hope the swelling goes down. Wahhhhh. It hurts like a mofo.

And it didn't help that when I went to work the next day I was lethargic as fuck and got some 'tude from an employee. What a cunt. I remember seeing her around the office over the summer. Even then she had a stank ass look on her face. Does smiling make you break out in hives? Is that why you don't do it? Jeeez. This is how work went downnn yesterday at the job I like the least compared to my fun people-watching, socializing job at the student union :)
The kind lady who sits at the front row of desks that take care of student needs asked me in the back if I could fold some boxes for her. She was really appreciative of the help I was giving her. Mind you, I was doing this in the back in an empty cubicle which was right next to the crabployee. I'll call her...hmmm...tough one. Mean Slacks is coming to mind. She was wearing work trousers and was kinda mean when she spoke to me. While I was folding probably my fifth box, she comes around the corner to my cubicle and stands there. Not until I look up at her she says, "I can't take it anymore."*
*I kinda wish I responded how my roommate responded to co-workers at her job a few weeks ago: "I'm sorry but that's just how you are."

For a split second I thought she was gonig to vent to me about how much she hates her job (I mean, who wouldn't...not only do I hear the employees complain about that office but so do the students that come through it). But then I realized she would never vent to me about her problems. Christ I'm glad. "Oh, the noise?" I ask. "Yeah, I-I can't stand it. Can you like go up there and do that?" I paused to take in what she said to me. Then kinda looked up and was like "Uh. Sure."

"Thanks," she said, "I'm sorry." I picked up the cardboard to go fold them in the break room, where I was squished in a corner. Later on, I saw her getting paper jammed in the shredder. I knew how to unjam it but I didn't say anything. What I should have said was, "I can't take it anymore."