#rugburn

Stella/Belle

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Belle jumped as a cool, tingling salve was spread over her burning kneecaps with deft fingers.

“Does that hurt?”

“N-no,” Belle answered. It’s just cold, she almost added, but the word no had come out at such a pathetic pitch that she didn’t trust herself to say anything else.

“It’s going to scab, but it won’t scar. You should’ve told me your poor knees were being skinned.”

“I didn’t feel it,” she whispered, trying not to flinch or shiver or god forbid whimper at Stella Abend’s fingers meticulously finding every afflicted inch of her sensitive, rug-burned skin. “…at the time.”

I fell asleep in my computer chair yesterday.

Normally, when this happens, I just sort of collapse into the chair and fall asleep in the position I was in.

But yesterday, I actually fell out of my chair.

And I landed, face-first, on the carpet to my right (which was fortunate -- I have a computer desk I could have knocked over, and a mini-refrigerator I could have hit on the way down and hurt myself more than I did).

So I’ve got rug-burn on my head.

And what stinks about it the most is that there’s NO way this is gonna heal before my manager’s meeting on Thursday morning.

So I’m going to have to explain it to not just my fellow managers, but also to the higher-ups (including the owner of the casino).

But...it is what it is. It’s not like, especially in a casino, I can find some excuse to wear a mask (even if I found one on clearance somewhere post-Halloween). Masks are no-go in a casino under ANY circumstances. And it’s generally 71º in our meeting room (we log temperatures every hour, and that’s the average in that room recently), so I probably can’t get away with wearing a beanie through the meeting to cover the bigger spots, but even if I did the spots on and just above my nose would still show.

Hopefully it’ll just get a good laugh from everyone when I explain, but...it’s still not a good look for me.

[Thursday, August 24th, 2017. 12:05 a.m.]

bedside underfoot fingernails and floss creased leather shoes i dig my toes into the carpet rugburn never said anything well put lingering tales of loss greased leather and blues this hairy body is an artist rugburn

mornings are grey clouds now like ever permafrost some things you grow to hate because they cross your mind at the wrong moments raw childhood recollections a dark house with a cone of light under the door the reflection of amber fluorescence at dawn ants on your toes dragged over dew on the lawn picking apart drawers with bills from the 50s maybe this next one is where hope is

rugburn knifeburn how easy is it to hunt for strife the only sober head on a blunt ride believing divinity was in close proximity 62 miles to space from earth i am closer to heaven than i am home and the similarities shiver me god smokes cigarettes god has aids god watches traffic reports and grimaces our daily bread stolen and crucifixes pawned worship with me in this pretend praise