The rash from Hell subsided, then returned with a vengeance. I saw the doctor again and she prescribed more medication. She added, “You need to be hospitalized if your skin starts to slough off or you notice decreased urination…” I didn’t ask for her to elaborate for fear that I would sound stupid, but I thought to myself, “What is the appropriate amount of piss? And am I supposed to keep track of this each day? I can’t recall the last time I had a good, healthy pee…”

My mind is still reeling.

While I was making pizza in our new oven, I realized that I preheated it to 375 degrees with the packet of instructions and bottle of cleaning solution still inside of it. Basically, I baked this melted plastic-chemical-paper mess to the bottom of the fucking oven. As I scraped it out with a spatula, I thought to myself, “My mother would be so proud to witness this moment of domestically challenged genius.”