I am all for the therapeutic powers of lying in the sun reading books, let me start there.

Lately I’ve been really restless and also simultaneously unwilling to do anything. I think this is commonly known as “something in your brain is not working properly.” Mostly it is making washing the dishes a really gross experience.

I also finally did laundry (for free, at Mom’s, where the coffee is also free, and she is way less almost-out-of-coffee-grounds than I am, which helps!). And then soaked up the sun outside for two or three hours.

(For those of you who don’t know, I live in southern Louisiana, where winter is largely theoretical and/or usually only happens when it’s dark. So “sunbathing” does not make me extreme or Finnish or anything.)

(Because part of the sauna in Finnish culture involves hanging out outside until you cool back down? Yes? Anyone? It’s a thing.)

As part of a series of last-ditch efforts to make anything seem worthwhile, I’m trying to figure out what to do with my hair, so I spent a lot of time staring in the mirror speculatively wondering what might work (dare I try a fauxhawk again? Dare I try an actual mohawk? Are mohawks culturally appropriative? I might look a little bit like Chloe from Wet Moon. Is that something I want?) and noticed–

well, okay: I got a three-hole spiral piercing a week before the semester started. It’s mostly healed by now, and I stopped cleaning it regularly because a) it stopped needing it and b) I ran out of Q-tips and kept forgetting to buy them. I hope you have enjoyed your visit to the department of backstory.

So there was some dry skin around it which I decided to remove when I got home, thinking that since it was healed I could probably just take it out, clean it, clean my ear, and be done. And that was true! Hurray!

The moral of this story is that I cannot unscrew piercings at all reasonably. Also, anything that winds through three holes in your face should probably just be left there forever. You made your choice a long time ago. Carry those scars with pride. Putting that thing back in is weirdly painful and gross, but kind of awesome, in that it made me feel like I could double as a wine opener should a too-much-sobriety-related emergency arise.

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