A Bad Sign
Ugh oh. It’s always a bad sign when I write three or four paragraphs and then go back and delete them all. Every single word.
But that’s what I’m doing tonight. Nothing’s sticking. Nothing’s gaining traction in my head and leading me somewhere even remotely interesting.
Oh sure. As soon as I wrote the above, the ‘poison ivy dot’ that appeared on the inside of my thigh last night started itching with a vengeance. I guess the Universe is giving me a counter-irritant?
I’m complaining about having nothing to write about this evening and so my body manufactures a poison ivy dot. See, I know this is a trap. If I scratch the itch that’s emanating from this single raised dot of irritated skin – and really, emanating doesn’t do it justice; It’s pulsing, taunting me. It practically has a life all its own – I know with preternatural certainty that the dot will spread its cursed tentacles across the back of my leg and thus will begin a summer of chasing the poison across the wasteland of my skin. From thigh to wrist to finger to foot – and everywhere in between.
Being Dramatic
Oh sure, you think I’m being dramatic. If you’re judging and dismissing my dismayed lament as exaggeration, it’s obvious you’re one of the lucky ones. One of those people who states with abandon (and yes, a taunting hint of glee in your voice), “I could roll around naked in poison ivy and never feel a thing!”
And as I type this – literally as I sit here – other dots are popping up on my body. Now there’s one on my pinky finger. And another on my back.
Aaargh. Obviously Spartacus must’ve gotten some urushiol (poison ivy oil) on his coat and then burrowed under the covers last night.
Honestly, I think I’m at least partially talking myself into this spreading across my body as I sit here. Either that or perhaps I’m having an allergic reaction to something else.
I think I’m going to call it a night and see if I can find a Benedryl tablet in the medicine cabinet. Sometimes it’s best to throw in the towel and raise the white flag.
(T-183)