This post contains too much information. IF you do not get a sick sense of satisfaction when you’re left with quicks where nails used to be, caverns where bug bites inhabited or bleeding lips where chapped skin formerly lived, you’re not gonna wanna know the details.

I leave things until they’re too much to handle. I mean, some things. Other things must be addressed immediately, like closing cupboard doors. But dishes and personal hygiene, sorry to maybe gross you out, but those are last priorities. I’ve got too much other shit to take care of – I can’t stop and shower.

Lately, I haven’t been taking care of anything. Seems the stress I’ve been culminating has been damning me down and the mood cycling is kicking my ass so that I have a manic cycle right smack in the late morning, during Isobel’s playtime and the rest of the day is pretty much a motivationless void. We’re eating, we’re without visible stains and we’ve still got some money (though I am overspending).

It’s good enough.

But when things have been like this for awhile, I go a little nutso and I don’t think the Chantix is blameless. Some occurrences cause me to bleach my hair Barbie yellow, others to cut 1″ thick bangs, once I waxed all of the hair off of my face except for two perfectly arched eyebrows. I had a reaction to the wax (and probably the torture of all that pulling) and got a gross rash for a week and a half. I couldn’t leave the house after the first time that I did, I saw one of my exes.

And then there was the other night.

I’ve had this bump beside the bridge my nose for like, ever. Once upon a time, maybe five years ago, it was a possibly a pimple. But I’d forgotten that and have always attributed it to some kind of sun damage or even just, “that’s my effed up skin” syndrome. See, I’ve got really dry, patchy, sensitive skin. I’m allergic to every sunblock I’ve ever tried, except one – which is $47 for 3 ounces. I don’t do sun protection. I’ve got lots of sun spots – bigger than a freckle and flatter than a mole (and I’ve got lots of those two, too). So yeah, I’ve thought this was something like that for most of the twenty first century.

Then the other night, it occurred to me that maybe it was a pimple that just never resolved itself. I rarely ever pop or squeeze pimples – they tend to even out and I only get them in whole bunches – cuz I’ve read how bad that is for your skin and can cause scarring and yada yada. But the other night, Genius Zoeyjane set to work.

There was squeezing and poking with fingers – and some progress came of that, but then a plateau without a smooth surface. Kicked it up a notch by pulling out a couple of QTips and pulling the edges apart. Still more progress, but not fully done. Half an hour’s passed by this point and I decided to try one more thing – stabbing.

This worked.

And now, I’ve got some under-skin bleeding that looks like something on Gorbachev’s forehead did (but smaller) and I feel scarred and ugly and oh so victorious every time I touch that spot. Because it hurts and looks like hell, but I was successful.

How did I counteract this obsessive behaviour and it’s cost to my aesthetic appeal, the next morning, therefore further preventing digging and poking of other body parts – say the calluses on my heels?

Bought a pack of smokes.