I had a facial tick for about a month and a half. I think the Kayoed gave it to me. At first, it was slight. The skin under my right eye was just twitching a little. I couldn’t even notice it, unless I looked in the mirror. It got more and more severe. “Your poor eye!” Purse Maven would say when I came to her desk. I got a little kick out of it. I knew I was making people uncomfortable. I haven’t felt very attractive since my skin got so bad, so what the fuck? Why not a tick as well?
By the time I went into the hospital, it was really bad. At that point, the eyebag was throbbing. “I can see your pulse under your eye,” someone said, and it was true. I would stare at myself in the mirror. Lub-dub, lub-dub. In my eyebag. The first beat was more pronounced, even. It was getting gross. Mine was the tell-tale eye. It’s there, under the eye! Stop it, you devil!
I practiced in the mirror different facial expressions that best hid it, in case I should need to. If I smiled broadly and held my head back a little, it was less noticeable. Good to know. Hard to do, especially since I still couldn’t feel it.
Then today, it stopped. In the middle of the day. I don’t know why. The arteriole that was doing it was foreclosed on, I guess, and had to move in with his brother in the small intestine. It’s a nice place, in the villi, but a little cramped with the kids and all. Just until he gets back on his feet and can rent something. He’s looking in the kidneys. I know what you’re thinking, but the area’s much nicer since the caffeine content has gone down. It’s actually really desirable for young vessels these days. Gentrified.
Here’s hoping my eye stays settled down. Unless I meet a hot guy who’s into acne and throbbing eyes. Rrroww.