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Sunday February 18th 2007, 7:21 pm
Filed under: All Letters,Uncategorized

To the plague on my forehead,

One week after I moved into Robert’s house, a rash developed on my forehead. This curious excrescence came in two forms: pimples and boils. Along the veins of my forehead trailed the path of a disconcerting problem. My first reaction to the blemishes was to cover them up by wearing beanies or other types of hats that could conceal my whole forehead. However, when I wore hats, the rash seemed to spread from the contact with the cloth material. But I wasn’t about to parade around town, depressed and lonely, showcasing such an ugly face. I forced myself to wear hats, which made my face epidemic subsequently worse. As well, I couldn’t manage to leave the boils alone; I tried popping, picking, scrubbing, rubbing, poking, pretending they didn’t exist (but only for so long) and various other methods to alleviate this problem. But nothing worked to solve the riddle as to why these blemishes appeared. It’s been three months since the first appearance of my face. Some weeks have been better than others, as the rash subsides sometimes; however the dermatological condition has yet to go away. Through not-so-careful studies of my activities, my hypothesis as to why these disfigurements exist lies in the fact that I’ve been smoking a pack of cigarettes a day since the day we broke up. The chemicals in the smokes are making their way into my forehead veins and they are surfacing as this “socially unacceptable condition of uglinessâ€?. If I touch my infected skin and spread the rash, the whole process begins all over again. It’s too bad I have such a hard time not touching the irritable boils on the outside of my frontal lobes, especially when I’m stressed out. My second hypothesis, why my forehead is now a general plague filled area, is from the stress of our breakup. As the subconscious and conscious levels of stress from our breakup increase, so does the severity of my facial condition. The rise and fall of social beauty has followed this graphable equation: Two days ago my skin was clearing up and relief filled my thoughts like a warm hug on a cold night. However, last night, I once again had a dream about our breakup, which subconsciously screwed my perception of reality, therefore, causing me to awake panicked and stressed. And wouldn’t you know it? The plague on my face reappeared as a telltale sign of this wicked subconscious process. Now, I doubt it is a coincidence that I smoke more when I am stressed about our breakup, which is making the separation of these two hypothesizes almost near impossible. Maybe I should go to a dermatologist and consult a professional on the subject matter; but having all of life’s answers given to me on a silver platter takes away from the fun of investigative critical analysis. So, I think I’ll hold out a little longer before cheating myself out of the dopamine I can potentially release into my synapses by way of appreciating the hard work and effort that is facilitating the understanding of this psychological, neurological and biological questioning.

-The ugly duckling