Time for an anatomy lesson! Today we’re going to discuss the maxillary sinuses, and how much they can ruin my day. Here’s an illustration to give you an idea of where they are located (this is for those of you who’d rather not use your wee brains on a Friday to suss out what “maxillary” means):
(No, that is not me. Though, those eyebrows could have been mine in high school before I learned of the magic of plucking.)
Even though the evil folks at pollen.com say it is a “low” pollen day, I can only assume they are implying that those of us who feel the way I do are paranoid hypochondriac types who just like to complain. I swear to you, there is nothing low about today’s levels. I don’t know what is out there, but it is making my teeth ache in a pitiful way. That deep valley of the maxillary sinus sits right on my upper teeth, and when the sinus is all swollen, my face not only feels like I’ve been hit with a bag of bricks (ala Heavenly Creatures!), but my teeth, oh god, my teeth feel as if someone is ever so slowly extracting them for no good damn reason at all. Feel sorry for me. Thank you.
Speaking of hideous high-school eyebrows, my lovely aunt sent me a fatty stack of family photos. She asked me first if I wanted them, knowing that they could dredge up unwanted emotions. Which, so true, but yes, I wanted to see them. And, oh, man. There were so many I had never seen before—like of my mother as a child and young adult (wow, I never realized how much I do look like that mousy, plain woman—quick, more mascara and cleavage!), but a lot of them were ones I knew well, and had hoped had magically disintegrated over time. I was such a cute sausage baby, then around 10 years of age, shit went wrong, really really really wrong. For seven terrible years I suffered as an ugly duckling. What an unfortunate mess of features! And the hair! At one point I was going for a comb-over, except I was the opposite of bald and had tight kinky hair. The hair is parted about an inch above my left ear. My sexy, large-framed rose-tinted plastic glasses really give the look some panache that I’m not sure most 12 year olds can pull off like I apparently could. The braces gave me a special twinkle, and oh, my skinny legs and blousy boxy shirts. Even in later years when I had my hair somewhat under control, why was I not plucking? How was I getting laid? Thank you gentlemen of my teens for looking past all that. Oh, you just wanted to stick in in to anything, and I could have had a bag over my head for all you cared? Huh.
Anyway. There’s a lot of adorableness to be had like my sister and I as toddlers. My mom was apparently obsessed with handmade, matching outfits, even though we were not twins. She also liked my hair in pigtails composed of one very long, thick curl on each side, tied up with a thick, furry yarn ribbon. As a newborn, I looked like a vaguely Asian troll, which is to say, I looked like most newborns but I boasted a black 3” mohawk. I was born awesome.
There are very few pictures of my father, but he’s lurking in a some of them. He looks like a hitman from the ‘70s with his penchant for ugly browns, evil moustache and thick black glasses. As far as I am aware, he has never killed anyone (for hire or otherwise); he’s just a different sort of monster—hide your women and children when he’s around. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.
Also, it seems my mom has sported the same hairstyle since she was a preteen. Some years it was just a bit poofier than others. Imagine, decades upon decades of the exact same cut.
It’s been a bad week for many of my friends. A lot of my energy has gone toward doling out tough-love advice, driving them hither and yonder, loaning money, listening, hugging, and in general, just being there for them. Some of their stories are juicy (car crashes, felonies, alcoholism, rehab, rejection rejection rejection!), they are not mine to tell. That’s about all I’ve done this week. I kind of sort of started a mosaic (if you count just pulling out two shards of glass from my shards-of-glass bucket as starting a mosaic), and managed to cut my foot in the process (pantsless mosaicing is safer than barefoot mosaicing it seems). I finally put my desktop computer together and discovered all my missing music files. Hooray! There hasn’t been a lick of work to do at the office, so it’s been a painfully long week.
Whoopis died half a year ago, and I’m ready to get his paddy paw print tattooed on me tonight. My grief is still so deep for that little furry one. How can it really have been six months ago? It’s still such a sharp pain within me when I think about him. So far Brekkie has Whoopis’ sweet disposition. Such a little, gentle dear. He never uses his claws, even when he does a flying tackle at my knees. Oh, children.
Today is supposed to be 104. Even I melt in such heat. Time to lounge in the kiddie pool. Remind me to get a pool boy to skim the dead skeeters off the surface.
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