It took 20+ stitches

To get me to pay attention

Where I’ve been, but ideally not where I’m going.

There are so many things I cannot figure out.

• Like buying a bottle of Tylenol or ibuprofen and taking it when something hurts.

• Getting my teeth cleaned twice a year, primarily because I cancel appointments for powder days, can’t reschedule for months, find that outrageous, and reasonably give up.

• How to get my baseboards clean without getting on my hands and knees. Same goes for my oven after I spilled that half-baked quiche in it. And the ceiling above my bathtub with a slight pink and black hipster pattern of mold Urban Outfitters might put on a shower curtain because I have no fan in my 100-year-old house. Why do these things not clean themselves?

• Checking my voicemails because 1) Voice notes (don’t you dare text me a book and think I’ll respond with a book because my pointer finger is tired because I’m over 40 and don’t know how to text with thumbs) and 2) Email.

• Responding to emails because Vivian and Troy are clogging up my inbox with their incessant asks to use their payroll/HR/Meta advertising/TikTok advertising/email/shipping/insurance services.

• Applying the Bioré strips I bought a year ago to my nose weekly.

• Discarding/recycling/whatever-we-do with underwear we’ve been wearing for four years. Ok fine, maybe five.

At the end of the day, I feel like I’ve done so much the minutia feels impossible. I revel in what I accomplish daily, not only with work, but rest, snowboarding, riding bikes, cooking, seeing friends, masturbating (seeing if you’re paying attention), and reading Chani. I’ve never been good at taking care of myself or staying on top of life in the way I perceive other people do.

The truth is, I have had limited capacity to address the very mundane things, albeit many important, because I have been completely consumed by seeking success with my businesses. (We’ll get into what success has meant to me later.) It’s work that I love, so it doesn’t feel off, but it is. Anyone who runs a business knows how hard it’s been to navigate the roller coaster of the pandemic that still won’t let us off. It has consumed me, and it took something so significant for me to say enough.

So when I handed over the keys to my dumb shop, I committed that I would not fill my time with more work, but I would try to adult. So I scheduled my first appointment with a primary care physician in the last 20 years and I showed up to the appointment. I asked for a referral to a dermatologist and I… wait for it.. called and got an appointment.

I did not cancel, primarily because it’s summer and there are no powder days to contend with, but also to remove the two bumps on my nose that I was sure were simply a result of me not using those Bioré strips. To my dismay, they said they were moles and if I got them removed I’d have white scars on my face so I sighed in annoyance and carried on to my next issue.

Which was that really big, abnormally shaped mole on my back that entered stage right sometime in the last year. The doctor cut it out, I carried on, and I didn’t think much of it, until they called a week later and said it was really abnormal and I should come back.

No one can believe it, but I made another appointment. Today I arrived early (gasp!!!) only to be ushered into the back quite quickly. The doctor then came in and said I have the closest thing to melanoma that isn’t actually melanoma so they’re going to cut a huge chunk out of my back (my words), all the way down to the muscle, to make sure they get rid of it. Because not doing that means death sooner than I’d like. And because I’m “young” (I’ll take that compliment, sir), I need to come back every three to six months for the rest of my life.

So I walked out with 20+ stitches and a loose protocol of not overexerting myself (because he said it was obvious I was going to do what I wanted to do) and now I’m having my favorite gin drink and feeling proud of myself. I’m also in absolute awe that this could have landed on the list of things I don’t do, ever, and what that would have meant.

So here’s to fucking “failing” so we might have more years on this planet.