No one knows like my nose knows

This morning, while planning my semester, I managed to scratch the tip of my nose. It bled for a very long time - half a roll of toilet paper - before it stopped. Recovered, I went to the gym.

On mile three of the treadmill, I notice blood was on my t-shirt and my nose tip was leaking again. I got off the treadmill and asked for a bandaid. I finished my workout soaked from sweat and with a bandage on my nose. As if I'm not funny looking enough when pushing weights, I now looked like I showered in my clothes and had a nose injury.

This reminded me of two items from the past: my Crandall mole and my mini-marathon pepperonis. I had a mole, like all members in my family, but mine needed to be removed. I had it burned and it turned into a giant blister that I covered with adhesives. Yet, on Chemistry "mole day," the teacher wanted her kids to unmask my nose to celebrate her subject. When I did, they were grossed out by the Rudolph apparition and only Mason Cox was brave enough to go further. He asked, "Can I touch it?" When he did, the vessal popped and squirted him with puss and mole-removal ooze. It was memorable, very much like the time I finished my first mini-marathon and had two streaks running through my t-shirt. It was there I was taught about male chafing while running when all the XY runners were quick to share their nipple stories.

I add this entry because I thought it'd be a delightful addition to my quirky pursuit of 2009. Am I wrong?