Well, the bandage from my biopsy of June 26, 2000 came off with relatively little pain, the fact of which my chest hair rejoices. Fine, except now I've got a fresh wound exposed to the world. Joy. At least it's sutured up, but the xylocaine's worn off and the prospect of sleep and turning over on it is unappealing. Still, maybe the sacrifice of... hmm... pi*4*8... roughly 100 cubic millimeters of flesh will make my computer work again. Damn thing better just be an evil mole and not cancer - I knew I'd get cancer at some point in my life, but not this early.

Fuck the DMV and fuck the hour-long line. The permit shall be gathered on Wednesday.