STREAM.

I have an "owie" above my left eye, a "booboo" if you will; and although it's as miniscule as my euphemisms suggest, requiring both of two sutures (I declined Dermabond; thanks, I'll pass on the Krazy Glue substitute), it has become a focal point of my physical being. I am somehow larger, more lumbering because it is so small. That its inciting event was a brief encounter with a left-open cupboard door only makes me feel more conspicuously clumsy. There is a grave accent over the eyebrow I am currently reluctant to cock, denoting a timid, completely internal disaffection that I will be glad to rid myself of come Monday, when the stitches come out.

Come, Monday, come. Stitches come out. Monday can't come soon enough.