I have a cold sore. It is in my mouth. I do not love it like I love French toast. I do not love it like I love fresh tomatoes or garden peas. I feel it though every time I talk, every time I smile, it's the aftertaste to my orange juice and I can't resist from sticking my tongue to feel it every couple of minutes. Every minute. Every few seconds.
– An uneasy conscience is a hair in the mouth.
Mark Twain
except it's a cold sore.
It's not even cold outside, the sun is shining, and we went to Mimi's for breakfast, the first customers. Although I do work in air conditioning. No, it is still not cold.
I am not particularly sore either. No exercise beyond normal, no bitter feelings, no soreness. Just in my mouth.
At least it's not contagious.
No comments:
Post a Comment