I don’t care what anyone says. I’m not going outside with this giant, heaping mess of a fucking mouth pimple on my lower lip. Thankfully, it’s snowing more than it’s ever snowed in my particular area of the country in the entire history of this particular area of the country, thus confirming our worst fears about climate change, so I don’t have to set foot outside looking like some kind of god-forsaken scab witch. And according to the news, it’s only going to get worse. (I mean the polar vortex. I would die if my mouth pimple were on the news.)
Now, I don’t know what I did to get so lucky. A record 26 people have been claimed by this relentless, unforgiving snowstorm caused by yet another collapse in the Earth’s polar vortex, affecting North America and parts of the U.K. I can feel it when I’m eating. The mouth pimple. The polar vortex isn’t affecting me at all. I am safe inside, although the last time I saw my family was when they went off-piste skiing just south of where we live. I dropped them off, saw them leave, and have not heard from them in four weeks.
Oof, I can’t believe this is happening. It’s never been this bad before. I don’t know what kind of oil I must’ve eaten and then left on the sides of my mouth for this thing to be coming on with such brute force. I can feel it when I’m trying to sleep. But at the very least, I can find solace in the calming serenity of knowing that I can be in my house for as long as I want, take my time, and really let this thing run its course.
I don’t even know if they’re alive. God knows what their last words could have been.
I have to be strong, and I have to stay inside, despite the potential death of everyone I know and love. This mouth pimple will ruin me. How can I face my co-workers, let alone my family, for whom I would send out a search party if it didn’t mean facing the harsh reality that this pimple is going to give people the wrong idea?
Not that there’s anything wrong with having a perfectly normal ailment that plenty of people suffer from. 1 in 8 people between the ages of 14 and 49 in the U.S. have genital herpes and about half the population of the same age have HSV-1. It’s just not how I want to look this week.
In time, with patience, I will find my family. But for now, I must face the burden of my fate—which is, most likely, a hydrating face mask, a cold compress, plenty of water, no fried foods, and a good night’s rest. I’m not leaving the house. Not until I can. Then I’m going to save them. But not until it’s gone. Nothing happens until it’s gone. Even if I go first.
I would die if anyone saw this mouth pimple.
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