Praise then darkness, and creation unfinished

I saw a dermatologist today, after sitting around in a waiting room where someone insisted on having Judge Judy on the television, at a volume that made it impossible for me to concentrate on my book (the Tiptree biography). He looked at the mole, named it as a seborrheic keratosis, and said it's harmless and that there's no need to remove it. I asked about itchiness (which is why I noticed the change, in late December) and he said I could use a bit of over-the-counter cortisone cream.

My feeling, after about three minutes, was that he seemed competent, but I didn't actually like him, so after he had me put my shirt back on (the mole is on my shoulder), I didn't ask him to look my skin over in a thorough, dermatological way (as my old dermatologist did periodically, and as my GP also said would be a good idea). I should probably keep looking for a dermatologist, but it no longer feels urgent.

When I called cattitude with the medical verdict , he said that he didn't think the mole had changed much recently; I remember him as saying it had, but it's possible that I grabbed "it's changed" from what he said without registering how much it had changed. (I can't see it without using a mirror and twisting, so it's not something I've kept close watch on.

Also, I went to the gym this morning, lunched in Chinatown, and stopped for groceries after the dermatology. We now have two kinds of tangerine: New Year's tangerines, of which I got eight from a vendor on Lafayette Street (I'd have gotten more had his stock looked better), and another five-pound crate of Spanish clementines.

( gym numbers )