I got a fun new addition to my braces yesterday. They seal my mouth closed almost completely. When they gave me painkillers, I couldn't even fit them into my mouth I could open it so little; I had to force them through a tight fit using my fingers. The moral of the story? My jaw hurts. It hurts quite a bit actually. But come next Thursday, my braces will be gone forever. And ever and ever and ever. Until the end of time.
I also got a haircut, and found out that my Beautician is only going to be available to cut my hair while I'm still at camp. That means I'll need to ask for an evening off, because the very thought of letting anybody else cut my hair kind of makes me cringe. It might just be one of my gayest qualities.
In other news, I visited the beach with some friends, and thought I'd try to do some tanning while I was there. The sun, however, just laughed at my pasty German skin and said, "Burn, Stephen, burn." Regrettably, I couldn't compete with that kind of power, and I burst into flames! Well, that might be a slight dramatization, but you get the idea. My skin now has a lovely cherry tint to it in several places. Fortunately for me though, I recover from sunburns relatively quickly, and this time tomorrow I'll probably be mostly healed, and my skin will have a kind of tangerine rather than cherry tint. In the meantime, I'm avoiding the sun just a bit.
I hope that finals are going well for everybody. I've been working on a few posts about various issues, and I'll try to get at least one of them published before I leave for camp. In the meantime, I hope all's well!
Writings of a formerly LDS gay boy.
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3 comments:
Ouch! No fun... here's to a speedy recovery!
yeah, in an attempt to even out my nasty lines from california, i purchased a tanning package. my back is a very lovely shade of pink while my front hasn't gotten pink at all. it makes me question the effectiveness of those stupid tanning beds :P
Please forgive a lond comment but your post reminds me of this poem:
Peanut-Butter Sandwich
by Shel Silverstein (1932-1999)
I’ll sing you a story of a silly young king
Who played with the world at the end of a string,
But he only loved one single thing --
And that was just a peanut-butter sandwich.
His scepter and his royal gowns,
His regal throne and golden crowns
Were brown and sticky from the mounds
And drippings from each peanut-butter sandwich.
His subjects all were silly fools
For he had passed a royal rule
That all that they could learn in school
Was how to make a peanut-butter sandwich.
He would not eat his sovereign steak,
He scorned his soup and kingly cake,
And told his courtly cook to bake
An extra-sticky peanut-butter sandwich.
And then one day he took a bite
And started chewing with delight,
But found his mouth was stuck quite tight
From that last bite of peanut-butter sandwich.
His brother pulled, his sister pried,
The wizard pushed, his mother cried,
“My boy’s committed suicide
From eating his last peanut-butter sandwich!”
The dentist came, and the royal doc.
The royal plumber banged and knocked,
But still those jaws stayed tightly locked.
Oh darn that sticky peanut-butter sandwich!
The carpenter, he tried with pliers,
The telephone man tried with wires,
The firemen, they tried with fire,
But couldn’t melt that peanut-butter sandwich.
With ropes and pulleys, drills and coil,
With steam and lubricating oil --
For twenty years of tears and toil --
They fought that awful peanut-butter sandwich.
Then all his royal subjects came.
They hooked his jaws with grapplin’ chains
And pulled both ways with might and main
Against that stubborn peanut-butter sandwich.
Each man and woman, girl and boy
Put down their ploughs and pots and toys
And pulled until kerack! Oh, joy --
They broke right through that peanut-butter sandwich.
A puff of dust, a screech, a squeak --
The king’s jaw opened with a creak.
And then in voice so faint and weak --
The first words that they heard him speak
Were, “How about a peanut-butter sandwich?”
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