Getting rid of it

I overstayed in the Northern Beaches on Sunday night due to having an appointment with DD’s skin specialist.

It was a follow up from getting a suspicious spot removed six months ago.

Going to the skin specialist is always a bit confronting because they make you strip down to your undies and bra, then they get a big magnifying glass and intensely scrutinise your whole body.

My body isn’t up for intense scrutiny these days, it prefers stripping to be done in dimly lit places without magnifying glasses or mirrors.

The skin specialist asked me if I had any concerns and I said there was a weird rough spot on the back of my shoulder. He excitedly suggested removing it. I asked if it really needed to be removed and he confessed it didn’t so I chose to leave my skin intact. He took the news pretty well and said “well just don’t scratch it”.

Oh-kay.

He couldn’t find anything else to cut or burn off me, which I think he found vaguely disappointing.

As he’d noted on my previous visit, I have pretty good skin for a redhead. Though we both agreed my chest could have done with a bit more sun protection over the years and is looking a little worse for wear.

My parents were before their time when it came to sun protection. I was slathered in sunscreen as a kid whenever I was outdoors and I wore a hat to school during an era that it was a bullying offense.

Sun protection has been front of mind since I developed a snorkelling obsession and I proudly informed the skin specialist that I had recently invested in swim leggings and a long-sleeved rashie.

He was very impressed with my dedication.

Afterwards, it was time to make my reluctant return trek to the real world with the dogs, my laptops, my toiletries, my overnight bag, a cooler bag full of groceries for dinner and my first load of Christmas shopping.

After cooking schnitty for the eldest we started strategising about his potential move to Melbourne to go to university next year. We’re going to fly down in January to go flat hunting.

I can’t believe that I will not only be an empty nester next year, but both my children will be living in different cities to me.

Sad face.

In other cruel news it would appear my tendonitis may have crept into my thumb. I’ve had to swap my mouse to my left hand. That should be totes fine since I am a left hander, but I am way more mouse dextrous with my right hand.

I am praying it’s not RSI because I need to be able to type at least 50,000 words a day, maybe 100,000.

After extensive Googling in bed last night I don’t think it’s RSI, but I suspect it’s not going away without help.

So I’ve become a little more strict with my Drinks Digest inbox. I am thinking about responding to emails explaining that I don’t guarantee backlinks except in partnership agreements; coconut water is not on brand for me, even with an accompanying mocktail recipe; and no I won’t be writing about the launch party you didn’t invite me to.

My thumb needs be rested for the big stuff.

Song of the day: Rod Stewart “The first cut is the deepest”