Pop goes the pore on your nose

Well, here we are - the busiest weekend of the busiest week of the busiest month of the year. Thanks to some unforeseen circumstances that meant I do not have a weekend to take a breather; I will have to do more work than usual today and tomorrow, the same way I did more work than usual last weekend. By "more work" I mean "any work at all".

I have prepared myself for this, if only because we've been working to this point for the past few months. Personally, I spent those months sending invitation letters and finishing flyers and publishing web pages and designing print pages and... why the hell am I doing all these anyway?

And then there are the questions I have to field from people. This is a part of the job, but then, sometimes the questions can be really stupid - and if they come at a bad time, it will trigger your worst anxieties. "When is our event again?" a sponsor asked - a sponsor who signed up early and, thus, should have known the date by heart. Getting that text message just as this laptop freezes for the nth time brought me to a rage.

It has been a stressful few weeks.

I know this not because I have been hyperventilating, or because I haven't been getting enough sleep, or because I have a lot of sticky notes stuck in my wallet and on my laptop (for the most part) and somewhere in the recesses of my memory. No, I know this because, after a long day (and night) at the office - this happened because I brought a vehicle and my plate number ends in 7 and it's a Thursday - I grew a pimple in my nose.

People who've known me for decades know I had a particularly bad pimple problem during my high school years. It's not the sort of pimple you can pop; it's the sort of pimple that becomes a lump forever. I had to had them cauterized by a dermatologist, and I have not even finished those treatments, and it's been eleven years. My nose remains a point of insecurity, but not because of its shape or size. I guess that stands me apart, but does that matter here?

So, yes, a pimple on my nose. Sorry to those with queasy sensibilities, but it is a big, fat, eminently poppable pimple. But you do not pop a pimple. In the short term, you do not want a bloody encounter. In the long term, you, supposedly, do not want scarring. I resolve to get a cotton ball, apply Eskinol to it, and just put it on my face to dry the zit. But still, why do I have a pimple now? This is the sort of thing you are telegraphed for days!

They say you get pimples when you're in love. Well, I am in love, and have been for six years, but pimples are merely a recurring experience, and one that's somewhat mitigated by our skin care routine. (I have yet to write about that.) They also saw you get pimples when you're stressed, and, well, that's a more plausible answer, but then the day before I used a different face wash because I ran out, and I remember Shalla talking to me about how new products purge your face of whatever it is that needs to be purged the first time you use them. But it's a face wash you often seen in supermarket. It's not supposed to work that way, right?

But still, a pimple on my nose. Days before the event. An event where I have to wear a coat and tie, even if I live in the tech booth, because I will suddenly meet all the people I have sent letters too. Good morning, managing director of a delivery company who started college the year I graduated. Can you tell me what I have done wrong with my life? I need answers. I'm stressed out.

And your responses...

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