On Saturday, I felt an annoying bump on my stomach and assumed it was a zit. Then it got bigger and bigger. So on Sunday, I went to urgent care where it was pronounced a cyst and I was sent home with an antibiotic. I didn't really understand how the antibiotic was supposed to help and apparently the antibiotic didn't either because the bump continued to grow.
It’s painful. But less so if I don’t move or crunch my guts at all. It feels like a small, fingerling potato. But I’m sure it’s an egg instead that will eventually burst and release MILLIONS of baby spiders. Or maybe not. But it’s a distinct possibility. I begged Andrea to simply slice the offending potato egg out with an exacto knife but she refused. Presumably, because she’s frightened at the prospect of releasing the baby spiders from their warm and cozy nest. So I had to go to the doctor today. Being new at a job is lame. Do you say, “Hey. I need to pop on over to my doctor to release these spiders from my guts. BRB.” Or what? I opted to state that I had to step away for a brief medical appointment. People do not ask questions about that – and if the do, you can say, “Lady troubles.” Or, “BABY SPIDERS!!!!!”. Either response is unlikely to invite further query.
I headed out to the doctor. Andrea texted me this. It’s important you marry someone who gets you. And although it’s been a challenging year, I’m going to keep Andrea because who else would go along with my crazy.
My doctor promptly diagnosed the angry lump as an epidermal inclusion cyst. I am not sure how she identified this over spider egg nest but hey. She went to med school, not me. She got her stuff (not an exacto knife) and exorcised whatever was in there. I assume it was NOT baby spiders because I didn’t see any scurrying away and the doctor seemed pretty chill. She did say this was her 3rd epidermal inclusion cyst of the week which is to say she’s grown accustomed to baby spiders.
I went home and acted as if I never had a nest inside of me. By 430 PM today, I was ready to yank my bra off on a conference call because it was too close to the former infestation site. Instead, I grimaced and soldiered on.
I’d been with my last company a long time. Far too long to conceal my crazy. I had fully intended to keep my shit together at the new place but on day 2, the co-founder of my company asked me, “Is that a little hatchet on your pen?”
“Mmm. Yes. Yes, it is. It writes nice. And it won’t get lost.” I offer.
“Huh. Most people tie a little string around their pen.” He puzzles.
Andrea helps me set up my new uplift desk which involves more than simply setting up a new desk. It involves moving Rocky from my background. Rocky is my taxidermied raccoon. I looked up at him last week and saw he had some red on his head the resembled blood. It wasn’t though. It was red fuzz left over from the Santa cap I’d placed atop his head at the holidays. Gay apparel. Anyway – I relocated Rocky to the living room. I mean – if this guy isn’t prepared for a hatchet pen, imagine how Rocky would go over?
By the end of each day, I’m tired. Andrea says it is because I’m learning new things. I suspect it’s because I have to act like the normal person these people think they hired.
“I take my hat off to you — or I would, if I were not afraid of showering you in spiders.”
― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince