Ramblings of a Weird Man

Sometimes I wonder about me. It can't all be age-related can it?

Last night I was sitting here right before bed, and I was idly rubbing the top of my head while reading something online. After a few seconds it occurred to me that there was something "different" up there. I went to the bathroom and looked into the mirror, but realized that I couldn't see quite up high enough to see what it was. (Not having someone to confer with is one of the downfalls of living alone.) I browsed around the house for another mirror to double up with and finally managed to see the area in question.

There up on top of my head was what appeared to be a wound about an inch and a half long, with a slight bump to go with it. Not a real fresh one either.

WTF?

Don't you think I would remember banging my head into something? Well I don't. Try as I might, I can not remember hitting my head on anything at all in recent memory. I don't usually get drunk enough to fall down, or worse yet, drunk enough to not remember events that transpire. Does that mean I'm sleep walking? Or worse yet, "clumsy, klutzy, bump-into-shit" sleep walking?

Obviously I did something at some point, so that probably means one of the following things:

• My pain tolerance is so great (aka: tough guy) that I didn't notice whatever it was when it happened.
• My short term memory is so far gone that I immediately forgot it.
• My mind considered it traumatic in some way and automatically blocked it.
• Someone has a voodoo doll of me.

Nobody told me that I would spontaneously start to sprout mysterious wounds when I went past the age of 50...

Maybe it's a secret thing... Like only seniors know? Maybe it will be like the dawn of the dead and crowds of seniors with blank stares will suddenly surround and embrace me, droning, "Welcome, Rick... We've been waiting for you..."

God that's creepy...