Drove over to Randolph and had a cyst removed today. When I asked the doctor was it was made of he cut it open for me and holy shit it was gross. It was like a pouch full of some kind of brown liquid, with some grainy stuff in it. That thing came out of the back of my head? Eeeuueu...

Well, if that didn't kill your appetite, nothing will.

The other two cysts are still so tiny that the doctor suggested I only do the one and wait on them, and I agreed, but I wonder if I should have just got them out of the way. I'm seeing him again in a couple weeks to get the stitches taken out, so I'll just ask for a straight answer then. My dad wondered if the doctor only said that so he could get paid three times. I figure I'll worry about that when I want to get these removed. Which, theoretically, could be never -- in practical terms it probably won't be more than four years because if I remember correctly, that's how long, very roughly, it took this one to grow from "barely noticeable" to "one of those candy-covered chocolate Easter eggs" -- but technically getting these things out is just cosmetic.

In other news, today I... didn't do much. Biked that five-mile loop first thing in the morning, which I'm making a regular habit while I have the time and stuff. Had a snack at Onion Flats on the way back: onion rings with a side order of nostalgia. I made a salad for dinner for me and my dad tonight, and afterwards I went into the video drawer and watched "An American Werewolf in Paris."

But now that I think of it, speaking of nostalgia... there was precious little. I remember just a few months ago I had worked out scenes in my mind of going to a five year high school reunion. I'd be dressed nicely, instead of the kid who was never seen in anything other than a baggy t-shirt and/or a hooded sweatshirt; I'd have short hair, unlike the inadvertent "John Lennon" hairdo I used to have because I was embarrassed about how big my ears seemed; I'd have glasses making me look even more intellectual and stuff.

But you know what? I don't really care. I don't know anything about the schedule of whatever WHS alumni events there are. If I haven't missed them already, chances are I will this weekend. It's been more than three years since I talked to anyone in my graduating class in person. Even Paul Mazzucco, the closest friend I had in those days - I think I haven't talked to him since last summer, maybe even the summer before. Wylie was my best friend through elementary school, but by our senior year we'd just plain grown apart. The last time I talked to him, I think I was trying to impress him by bragging about some cool new drink I'd discovered in France. Only person in my class who I was really good friends with and really attached to was Carissa, and hell, trying to connect with her would probably be an even bigger mistake than trying to start a relationship with Gretchen again, and that's really saying something.

Well, to skip to the end of this train of thought - at the moment I'm a little sad because in a way I'm giving up on a dream here. But much more than that, I'm torn between regret that I connected with so few people (and/or made such crappy choices about who to connect with), and relief that I realized all this before sending myself to an alumni event.