On the nose

This morning I awoke with a newborn pink pimple on the bridge of my nose, and I smiled. 

In high school, and dang it, well into my twenties, I was horrified whenever acne sprouted on my face. I cared more what people thought, back then. 

I still care, but not as much, and less and less. So there’s an itsy-bitsy baby zit on my schnoz. It’s going to get bigger before it’s old enough to squeeze. After squeezing, maybe there’ll be a scab, or maybe a bandaid. For the next few days or weeks my nose will be ugly, but my ordinary nose ain’t chiseled in granite. A big juicy red bump will give my face more character.

Yeah, I’d love to be People’s Sexiest Man Alive, but that ship has sunk to the seabed, long ago. I am big enough to be two men, and it’s fat, not muscle. I wear a crew-cut because it’s low-maintenance. My clothes come from thrift stores, and are replaced only when they’re in tatters. I shower once or twice weekly whether I need it or not, and often wear the same underwear as the day before. I buy deodorant, but keep it in my desk at work, and only put it on if I smell myself stinking. My teeth are yellow, and beginning to wobble and tilt.

So why not add a giant inflamed puss-filled soon-to-explode pimple on my nose? It finishes the image, suitable for framing. I am the Unsexiest Man Alive.

♦ ♦ ♦

Late this afternoon at work, we unexpectedly received a large volume of rush-rush gotta-get-it-done work. Oh my god, this was important. People could die, nations could topple, there could be pestilence, radiation poisoning, tidal waves, knock-knock jokes, and won’t someone please think of the children?

Well, the oh-so-important rush-rush work didn’t get done. Sorry, Mr Dude, but you can’t drop a big box of documents on us at 4:15 and expect it all to be organized and input by 5:00. It wasn’t important enough for the boss to offer overtime, so we were gone at quitting time, same as any other day.

I am (mildly) curious to see what happens tomorrow, when management understands that the work that suddenly, desperately needed to be done today, didn’t get done today.

From Pathetic Life #4
Tuesday, September 27, 1994

This is an entry retyped from an on-paper zine I wrote many years ago, called Pathetic Life. The opinions stated were my opinions then, but might not be my opinions now. Also, I said and did some disgusting things, so parental guidance is advised.


Pathetic Life 

← PREVIOUS          NEXT →



← PREVIOUS          NEXT →


🚨🚨 Click here if you have problems posting a comment. 🚨🚨