Intruder, Alert!

Ooooohkay, I see that NOT ONE SINGLE PERSON wanted to play my game below.

And I would probably worry that no one is reading this damn thing anymore if not for the thought that even if I knew I were the only one reading the sentences I type day after day, I would still write in here. Because I am just that bored self-amused.

Although, you may want to start paying attention, because these could very soon become my last words ever written.

I am suffering through an un-diagnosed medical malady. Self-prognosis: NO GOOD.

I don't know how it came to my attention, whether it was pointed out to me by someone with visual access to my thighs or if I were the first to spot the foreigner, but I was made aware of a unidentified object in my leg.

Small and black and slightly intrusive, it lays lodged in my upper leg, half-way between my knee and hip. It is, what appears to be, a small piece of graphite, perhaps? I can only assume what it may be because I have no recollection of having stuck anything in my leg and I'm a big pussy. You stick me with something, I'm going to remember it. Probably hate you for it if it were intentional.

So now I'm baffled. Am I blacking out in a sub-conscious drunken rage and stabbing myself with the classic #2? Perhaps I sleepwalk and during my mid-night gallivanting I spend time welding metal, a sliver of which had contact with my leg and remained stuck there? Is it a aggravated black head that has taken a solid form under my skin?

Whatever the case may be, the point is, after three weeks, it's still there.

I have tried meagerly to extract it, once. And it kinda hurt, so I stopped. Then I thought about trying again, but soon the rational part of my brain was overtaken by an army of pain receptors who pummeled rational until it lay beaten and broken at the bottom of my cerebral cortex. And that marked the end of my surgical attempts.

I should go see a doctor and figure out what the hell I have been hosting for the past few weeks. It would probably be the smart and rational thing to do, but see rational down there? He's waving to you with one limp hand pointed in the direction of my time card that details my PTO left. Guess what that balance is? Zero.

And guess who is going on vacation in two weeks and has already allocated those hours she previously requested for romping around the Tennessee mountains?

So for now, I guess it's best to just let sleeping dogs lie. Or mysterious black thingies lie. In my leg, unwelcome.

If, as a result of my negligence, something were to happen to me, I want you all to remember these last words.

You didn't answer my last post.
Whores.