Today was my first day of classes for winter quarter. I'm feeling pretty meh about school at the moment. All I did over break was feel crappy. I had my skinectomy and that knocked me the fuck out for a while. When the numbing shots wore off, the pain was worse than I expected. It felt like something had cut my bone. I was pretty depressed afterwards too, thinking about how it can come back, that I could have to go through this again and again. Just a little local anesthesia and goodbye skin. I could feel the sawing pressure when he cut it off. For a moment, before he stitched me up, I could feel my skin hanging loose around the bone, my bone exposed and cold. The whole time I felt something cool and wet seeping out all around my arm. It was horrific. I thought I was going to pass out or puke and I wasn't even looking at it. My doctor kept asking me questions to distract me, so I was laying there trying to talk about Salman Rushdie but all I could think about was my blood and bones. And then when he finished my wrist, again on my leg. Thinking about possibly having to go through this again makes me crazy. I look over my skin every day.

I feel different now. I feel old and tired. I'm afraid of the sun. When I started feeling better after surgery I got a really bad cold that knocked me back down. I spent new year's eve sick and alone. Nobody called me except some guy from work who I'd already told I couldn't work for him.

The other night at work Sarah Bonilla pointed out to me that I have the 11:11 stitched into my body, eleven stitches on my arm and eleven on my leg. 11:11 is a strange phenomenon. I did some internet investigating (internetstigating?) that gave me some food for thought. Eleven is associated with enlightenment and while I think a lot of the "angels make me look at the clock at 11:11" stuff is kind of crazy, I do think there is value in adding a level of symbolism to your life if it improves the quality of your life. I don't think my personal 11:11 enlightened me in any way, but maybe it was a call for me to pay more attention. To keep trying to live better.

But shit god damn, I wish I wasn't back in school already. It's going to be super hard for me to care about the antebellum South and 1890's England, let alone Plato and Aristotle.

Went to the lady doctor this morning. She found a stupid lump in my stupid left tit so I have to get a stupid mammogram. She said it feels a little harder than a cyst and it's probably not a big deal but it's still kind of scary. Then she yelled at me about this mole I have on my wrist that's getting kind of dark. Then she told me all kinds of scary stories about cervical cancer. Basically made me feel like I'm dying of eight kinds of cancer. I had to go home and look at the worst of playgirl for a while before I could feel better. Delightful.