Whatever its meaning and use, you have to admit that Areola would make a very pretty name.

I have to do this, ill prepared as I am, because I want to watch a movie. I know the whole idea of this project was to get creativity on tap, but for our purposes tonight creativity under coercion will have to do. Uncomfortable. Speaking of uncomfortable, I’ve developed a strange, mysterious affliction. I got into the shower the other day and turned on the tap (no creativity came out, but something else sure bubbled up). Pain. Searing pain. Have you ever had acid poured on a body part? I don’t know that I have, but if I had it probably would’ve felt like my experience. Where, pray tell, did it hurt? My nipple. Left areola to be exact. I moved out of the stream and tentatively moved back in. You know how your second instinct after something hurts is to see if you can recreate the hurt to understand your new boundaries? Well going back under it didn’t quite hurt as much. It dulled away to nothing. Then after continuing the normal parts of showering I came back under the stream. Searing pain once more. Well fuck, Emily. What was going on?

Throughout the day, odd things would cause the pain to resurface. Lifting my arm at a particular angle, certain movements that worked muscles around it. When I got to the gym for my warm up I found that treadmill running caused bites of pain with each step. Wondering if it was some peculiar iteration of nipple rash, I tried lifting my shirt. No help. My trainer thought it could be something muscle related, so she dug in deep throughout the lats. Hurt like a motherfucker, but not where I was afflicted. It’s still hurting today, leading me to believe it’s something I’ve contracted. Where to next? Googling “male nipple pain”.

Yes, of course cancer was one of the first options, but apparently cancerous lumps don’t cause pain. There’s no visible or physical lump as far as my searches have gone so far, but perhaps it could grow as time goes by. My leading thought at the moment is some kind of nipple cyst, which is more fun to say than it would be to experience. I booked a doctor visit, but the earliest I could get an appointment was next week. If it is a cyst, it’ll end up being lanced or I’ll go back on some kind of antibiotics (amoxicillin maybe?). I’m also giving myself a non-zero chance to be harbouring an alien parasite. I’ve always thought about how it would be to give birth to a living thing. As far as I know, my flat has no restrictions on pet ownership, so that could be nifty. We could go on walks, fly kites, float boats down by the riverside, devour hapless neighbourhood cats. My very own Alf.

Speaking of things that grow, my work had a big barbecue yesterday and there was shit tons of corn left over. A-MAIZE-ING. Naturally I grabbed a bunch to take home. As these things do, it got me thinking about intelligent design and that ridiculous argument about bananas. Intelligent design has no place in the realm of corn. Annoying husks in need of peeling, unnecessary mess, endless fibrous strings. It’s delicious, don’t get me wrong, but if corn was intelligently designed wouldn’t the strings be capable of use as floss? Between kernels and the fibre itself, there’s so much that gets left between your teeth. It’s inefficient to break down and while nutrients are present, we don’t end up with many of them. Instead you’re just left with reminders of their presence and your own failure over the next few days’ waste. If it wasn’t explicit, I was talking about poop, but seeing as I spent most of this entry talking about nipple pain and alien parasites emerging from my areola to become a treasured member of the family, poop doesn’t seem hugely explicit.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s