medium crazy

they don’t call it poison for nothing.

Well it’s been a while. Such a while that I have lots and lots of things I could write about. But I’m not going to, because I have poison ivy, and poison ivy is the only think I can think about. Poison ivy makes you very self-centered. The only issue I care about going on in the world at this moment is my own poison ivy. POISON IVY.

I had never had poison ivy before. Last weekend I went on a nice family visit to my Uncle’s house where I sat on his lawn (in a skirt) because it is nice on a lovely summer day to sit in the grass with some dogs and family members and enjoy the outdoors. Well, NEVER AGAIN. From now on I only stand, and I may not even venture onto unpaved surfaces because you can’t be too careful. If you think I sound crazy, that is likely because you have never experienced poison ivy.

Let me try to tell you what it feels like. Hmm…how to describe it? It itches, yes, but “itch” just doesn’t come close to explaining the special sensation of poison ivy, the sensation that makes you want to saw your legs off just to make it stop. Mosquito bites feel like sweet little bug kisses compared to this itching. It’s an itching that feels like hundreds of insects are crawling around under your skin, and some of them are chewing on your leg, and some of them are playing with matches, and the rest are just laughing at you. It’s itching that makes you wake up at 3 in the morning calling for your mommy. It’s itching that makes you find yourself half naked in the bathroom at 4 in the morning rubbing ice cubes on yourself and crying. It is just unbearable.

On Monday I noticed that I had a lot of what I thought were mosquito bites, and by Wednesday I was like, what the hell is happening to me? I was actually terrified that they were from bed bugs which are my worst nightmare. This continued until I sent my mother a picture of my problem and she was like, “Duh, you have poison ivy.” I admit I would rather have poison ivy than bed bugs, but I would also rather be hit in the head with a baseball bat than a crowbar. If you know what I mean.

If you don’t know, the poison ivy rash develops into totally grotesque blisters. The only silver lining I can come up with is that it’s pretty much all on my legs and thankfully not on my face, because it is just repulsive. My sister who was sitting on the lawn with me also got the Ivy, and I’m afraid her attendance record at family events will now move from low to zilch.

M. has not yet told me to stop my damn whining and last night when I curled onto the couch to feel sorry for myself he brought me my happy things.

Actually the chocolates I bought for myself. Because new rule: when you have poison ivy you get to eat ANYTHING YOU WANT.

It’s already been one week and my poison ivy is showing no signs of improvement. It’s hard to even remember what it felt like to have non-agonizing thighs.

Try to get me to talk about anything other than poison ivy. I DARE YOU. It’s kind of like if you were being jabbed with a hot poker, you wouldn’t be like, “But enough about the hot poker, how are things going with you?” No, you would be like “I am being jabbed with a hot poker and ouch and stop it and why is this happening to me?” Hot poker = poison ivy.

Mother Nature and I are not on good terms.