As you’ve heard me complain daily on Twitter, I have a stye on my freaking lower eyelid. There’s a first for everything: broken ribs, giant cluster of boils on your ass… all with healing methods consistent with a long wait. Ribs? Eh, nothing we can do — take some Motrin. Boils? How the fuck do I know. But it’s seemingly a lot of waiting for things to pustule and burst and ooze and shit.
Much like my fucking eye thing.
Ew. Now I know why I was nauseous this morning. I’ve never had one of these things. WTF?!
And this stupid eye booger is preventing me from having a social life because it looks like someone punched me. (Missed both Pat McGee and Stephen Kellogg at House of Blues this week… boo!) Everyone looked at me even at Dave’s strangely — like I had… I don’t know, an extra fucking eye (wonder why it wasn’t a look of concern, had I REALLY been playing the part of Punching Bag). Man, I really hate looking disfigured.
At least, today (Day 3 of The Great Eye Stye of 2009) it has started to puss, so it looks more like an eye infection. You know, with a little “black eye” thrown in for good measure.
My entire side of the face feels like someone punched me anyway.
I don’t know which is better.
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