I've just cancelled today.
Or, rather, the giant cold sore on my upper lip has cancelled today.
I've got The Herp.
It started yesterday, so I took my prescription pills as soon as I felt it starting to form. I've been smothering it in Abreva hourly.
But this morning, checking e-mail on my phone while still in bed, I had a hard time focusing on notifications about what had been repinned or commented on because The Herp is big enough that it's blocking my full range of vision.
I'm taking the kids to school and coming back here to hide.
My swim is cancelled. The chlorine would speed up the healing, but it does so at a price: it makes it turn white and floppy. Then I pick at the floppy part. Then it bleeds.
And wouldn't I be the exact kind of person that would come back to the computer to verbally ream someone who came to my pool and polluted it's chlorinated waters with their skanky, drippy, white and floppy chancre?
My hair cut is cancelled. And that's a damn drag, because I really need a cut. But the idea of talking to my gay stylist for an hour while trying to pretend the crusty and oozing (it's at the stage where it does both) sore isn't on my lip under those painfully bright and unforgiving lights, just seems draining. I'm no actor -- I can't pull that shit off.
Today. Is. Cancelled.
I'm holding out for Run Club, if I can still work my numbed mouth. If I can't bitch and moan about running stairs and doing burpees, what's the point of going?