It seems this week was quite possibly one of the biggest blurs of my entire life. I had to sit down and think about dates and times and certain moments because it all just happened so fast i had no idea which day was which at the end of the week.
Wednesday I worked, Thursday I danced, Friday I went to watch a movie, Saturday–wait? what happened Saturday?
The only reason I seem to remember my lovely Friday was because I had leftovers. I’m not talking about leftover food (like yummy pizza or whatever chicken strips I didn’t finish at a restaurant), I’m talking about a memory leftover. You know, something left over from the festivities of the night before (like how Thursday morning I smelled like popcorn and foam cleaner, or Friday morning I had big black marks on my hands because I was the only one who went dancing that was underage (though we didn’t even dance that much but i will save that bitterness for later)). Well Saturday morning I woke up with big red welts splattered across my back. What a lovely leftover, reminding me that I had been bitten by what seemed like two trillion mosquitoes.
They itched like crazy, and looked more like hives (from an allergic reaction) so I popped in a Benadryl (regretting it when I knocked out on the couch for two hours when the drowsiness hit me (like a very heavy truck)). The itching ceased and for five solid hours i thought everything was going to be okay.
Then I started scratching.
And that’s when i felt the tiny bumps that made up one welt. (These were not the level one hives I’d been so used to dealing with (after finding I was allergic to certain HEB brand products)).
Instead of the little mosquito bite I’d been expecting to see, was a sea of red splotches spread out across my lower back, (plus the tiny red bumps splayed out across my hand) and all I really wanted to do was cry.
I did not want to cry because of the sight (they really are hideous and make you feel slightly queasy when looking at them (at least that is what I have gathered from the looks of people’s faces when i lift up my shirt to show them)). I did not want to cry because I was frustrated (this was not the first time I’d had angry red bumps and welts pop up across my body). And I did not want to cry because it hurt (it didn’t). I wanted to cry because the itch to scratch was driving me insane.
So, on top of having a line of ten angry, don’t-know-what-they-want customers with five bratty children clinging to their hips, I had the itchiest back on the planet. And scratching (I had so previously learned) would only make it worse.
I told everyone I didn’t touch it. That I left it alone. That i had the best self-control.
But I did.
Here I am admitting that I scratched. I let my nails do good work apparently because it has since been four days and I now seem to have spread this unknown rash across the vast plain that is my body (except it is not a plain there are a few mountains and valleys here and there).
I will not go into the dirty details of what it is (mostly because I have no idea what it is) but i will say that I hope I’m on the road to recovery. Right now my fingers are being kept busy, but there is no telling that I won’t have another scratching episode once I’ve clicked publish.
I’ll keep you updated.
Wish me luck.