Two weeks with a Canker Sore: A Journal
Day 1: There's half a deli sandwich packed in a to-go box sitting by the pickles in my fridge. I had to put it away after the bread cut me. I was bleeding. Toast slashing. Dangerous crust. Of all the food groups to cause physical damage, I was not expecting it to be the breads. Maybe strangulation by spaghetti or a bruise from a fast moving grapefruit, but bread? I thought we were close. How could something I'm supposed to eat 6 - 11 daily servings of be so vicious?
Day 2: Cut still present. Sandwich not. I had to remove the crust, and I was too worried about my safety to truly enjoy it, but I ate the damn thing anyway. The cut hasn't really done much. It probably isn't anything. I wish I could slap a band-aid on it, but instead I just run my tongue against the abrasion every few hours to make sure it's still there. It is.
Day 3: You know how in SimCity as soon as you throw down some roads and power lines the buildings just sort of appear and grow on their own? That's going on in my mouth. Except in reverse. Sometime while I was asleep, the cut, originally a small slash, spread, got deeper, gained strength. What is happening in my mouth? What is this thing?
Day 4: Note to self: Do not, under any circumstance, eat salt and vinegar potato chips.
Day 5: The gash has grown. Now the size of a dime, circular, white, and covered in puss. There is a joke somewhere in there, but it's too painful to try and be funny. Must revert to safe mode: Pathetic. I am powerless. Probably on my deathbed. I think... I think this is a canker sore and I think it is trying to kill me.
Day 6: Bad day. It is as if my lip has been filled with broken glass and the slightest movement feels like someone hitting it with a broomstick. Hell's piņata is swollen and aching over my teeth. Smiling hurts, though with certain death looming, there is little to smile at. Spent majority of the day in bed waiting for sweet death. Tried to prove my pain and show the wound to a friend. I peeled the lip off my teeth, and the canker sore, sensing danger, went into overdrive mode and split open. It doesn't even make sense. I mean a cut, which is already a split, then spit itself once more. Real-world physics cannot hold a canker sore, and the wound went all forth dimension on my mouth. It hurt.
Day 7: Too weak to write. Few words describe me in this situation: powerless, pathetic, wuss. That's the most of it.