Current idiomatic expression in the vernacular suggests that some people "wear their emotions on their sleeves." Meaning that they are transparent in the display of their feelings. While I, on the other hand, being a twisted and misshapen example of the human genome, seem to "wear my feelings on my lip." Yes, I have a fever blister on my lip (Superior Maxillary Dexter to be exact), and I am now calling her "Priscila". Not because she is particularly pretty or lovely or feminine, but for precisely the opposite. A big, obnoxious, suppurating fibre on my most sensitive lip, feeling for all the world like a giant pulsating advertisement of my contagion, should have an ethereal and graceful moniker to adorn it.
Now it is on the wane, retreating into its dendritical terminal hidey holes to await the next onset of a super stress event. The ever-present threat of a maximum critical mass event just out of sight over the event horizon. Ah.... the thrills that await.
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2 comments:
well, duh. it wouldn't be any fun without a little scrambling, now would it?? besides, i have to assuage my minute cranial resident that i am in my infinitely tiny way, at least stimulating someone in a productive and literary vein.
You have this thing about vascularity, don't you. You know you do - just admit it.
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