Burned

This past Saturday morning when I was out on a walk, I got the mother of all sunburns.  I was over a mile closer to the sun than many of you, AND I’m pigment-deficient – it’s only natural.

By Saturday afternoon, I was radiating so much heat, you could have fried an egg on my clavicle.  My mom pulled out her prescription-strength aloe – the kind they gave her during radiation (you know, when they try to kill your cancer by giving you skin cancer instead) – and I’ve been slathering myself up all week.  But even still: now, I am peeling like a Tennessee cicada.

I wish that life was that easy – when you got burned, you could just shed the damage.

But maybe that’s not the point.

Maybe we’re not supposed to just slip out of the old.   Maybe it’s time for transformation.  Maybe we should hope for a tan, instead.