#666: Why You Be So Down On Evil?

That title has nothing to do with anything, except that this is the 666th entry here at Milkmoney Or Not, Here I Come that I've bothered to number. Although, if you hate the topic of this entry and find its banality to be so terrible as to be evil, then the title does sort of make sense, because you could think that this entry is evil, and you wouldn't be wrong, because that's how opinions work. *

What I have to tell you is that I have been lip-chewing up a storm all day. I chewed a bit of skin up before I got out of bed this morning. It was kind of loose anyway, and it seemed like a good way to waste a couple of minutes while I considered how strong my desire was to get up. Then, when I checked my e-mail before my shower, that flap of skin was sticking out, so I went to work on my lower lip until, surprise surprise, a drop of blood hit the laptop. (Shhh, don't tell the Palinode). I thought to myself That's it. This has to stop, and then I promptly pulled at any loose bit of skin I could find with my teeth all throughout my shower.

It is truly amazing how many ultra-thin layers of skin the lips have. All day, I worked through layer upon layer while I filed documents, attended a staff meeting, ate lunch, took the bus home, picked up cream at the corner store, and now while I sit here, nibbling at it fervently, as though I might reach an end to all these sticky-up, little bits of skin. There won't be an end, though, because every time I eat a piece of it, the surrounding edges begin to dry and lift. It's a terrible cycle, and if I don't stop, I could be chewing at myself for weeks. I'll be like those kids who reflexively lick the skin around their mouths until it's ugly and raw, only it will be my adult lips, and people will think I'm a fruitcake off my meds rather than just some half-witted kid.

Truth be told, it now hurts to eat the salty, salty food that I love so much. It hurt very much to eat the french canadian split pea soup I had for lunch.

I have become quite adept today at peeling the merest of edges of skin back with nothing but my tongue and my teeth to guide me. I have also become increasingly less good looking as this day of obsessive, repetitive behaviour has worn on. Nasty bits of ragged skin and spontaneous blood leakage does nothing if make me look a little drug addicted and homeless, but you will have to take my word for that, because no matter how many pictures I took, these damn lips of mine kept coming out looking not so bad. At least the following photograph is able to highlight the lovely outcropping of facial hair under my lower lip. I'm obviously trying to grow a soul patch.

lips

So, tomorrow is now filled with great purpose! I am not going to chew my lips at all tomorrow. Even if great sheets of skin hang from my lips like they are molting rattlesnakes, I will remain steadfast. I will seek my roughage elsewhere and my lips will be rejuvenated, appearing as youthful and elastic as the lips of a person with nineteen years of smoking behind them can. **

* If you are reading this footnote, then you likely read through this whole terrible thing about nothing more than me eating a part of my own face. If this is so, then I am not sorry I did it. You put your own self through this. You.

** I swear that I don't know why I'm doing this lip-chewing. I'm not particularly stressed, hungry, or nicotine deficient. Perhaps I've developed a case of pica.