Whilst brushing my teeth I noticed a slightly red and swollen patch of skin on my forehead with a whitehead in the centre. I tried to put it from my mind and vaguely picked at it for the rest of the morning. Five minutes ago I worried away at it with my fingernails and when that brought no joy, set at it with a pair of tweezers. What was an insignificant blemish is now an angry throbbing pore, and my dermic ineptitude is yet another reminder of my inability to leave what should be left alone.
