Amazingly enough, I am discovering over the span of the last several months that a fairly large third-degree burn on a sensitive part of one's anatomy is not as much fun as one might think.
Yes, Mojo is complaining about her arm again. To be honest, she has never STOPPED complaining about it. Just not on the blog. So if you are fortunate enough not to know Mojo personally (despite you lifelong hopes and desires) you have been spared her continual sniveling.
Yes, it still bothers me, almost eight months later. It is still angry and swollen. It still looks pretty much the same it's looked in pictures past, so no new pictures, you poor fans of gore.
When it happened, back in September, and the doctor told me I would have to wear long sleeves for the next two years (sunlight turns burn scars permanently dark if you expose them too early in their careers) I was like, hey, no problem. But now that the temperatures are warming up I am starting to not like it so much.
I guess it's on my mind since I woke up last night scratching it. It keeps alternating between hurting and itching, and last night was apparently Itchy Night. I woke up scratching it to heck 'n' tarnation. Luckily it appears I did not do any damage to it.
Yesterday my car died for no apparent reason. Me and my five-year-old friend hopped in it to see the new dinosaur museum at Amherst College, and while it turned over just fine it died whenever I gave it some gas. (Boy, do I hate automatic transmissions. But I digress.) It was so sudden I figured it was a clogged filter or vacuum tube. But the way my luck usually runs I guessed it would be something large and expensive. Turns out the first thing they checked--some sort of throttle controller--was gunked up and required cleaning. Cost me $36.00. I can live with that.
The dinosaur museum must wait for another day. We went fishing instead. Life could be worse.