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It’s been a weird week, and I can’t even articulate all the reasons why. Mom is in California, leaving the June Cleaver Vacuum,* we had to fix the car’s brakes, the Olympics dragged me out to watch the skatings,** my sleep schedule keeps getting interrupted for errands, I’m still trying to establish Going To The Pool as part of The Routine, and also I found myself doing battle with the most obnoxious case of not-quite-hives I’ve ever had to put up with, and it’s buggered my whole immune system. I’m tired and feel like I’ve spent every day running a marathon. I’m thinking that’s from the disrupted routine and the disrupted immune system.
And yes, before all y’all internet doctors start, my first thought when I started to sprout tiny angry welts all over was “DAMN I WILL HAVE TO FIND A NEW SPORT AGAIN.” Second and third suspects after “attack of the pool water” were the body wash I used in the locker room—not one of my usual delicate brands of Fairy Kiss And Unicorn Blood For Whiny Babies With Skin That Tarnishes When Exposed To Goddamn Air Like It’s Silver Or Something, but a scented type that comes in a convenient travel size—and the new brand of lotion I used. Yes, we will be testing these hypotheses, but the I think I have already found the offender.
It’s my goddamn allergy pill.
Or lack thereof. While rummaging around for some antihistamines to slow the itchpocalypse, I remembered that Mom had a similar problem when she forgot to take hers. And I have let mine run out this week.
Which means that I now have two pills with a protection racket going on, where the withdrawal effects are worse than never starting the pills in the first place. They’re little chemical versions of the mafia. Rotten bastards.
But even though this may suggest that I can still go swimming, it really didn’t do much for my week. Maybe I should just cancel it altogether.
*We try to help out around the house, but after a lifetime of being useless little kids, it’s hard to break that habit of taking care of our immediate needs and either leaving other things for someone else to do, or noticing them only when they’re pointed out to us. Fortunately, I seem to do better at seeing what needs doing when Mom’s not around.
**My sister and I were thrilled with the outcome of Men’s Skating, right down to Lysacek winning and Plushenko raising a tantrum because silver is a blow to his giant thunderous sun-blotting ego. We would have been disappointed if he hadn’t pitched a fit, because one of the reasons we love him is that he’s a haughty diva who we’d probably kick in the teeth if we ever met him in person. He’s got a right to be a bit egotistical—his performance here was lackluster, but he’s a damn fine skater—but we trust him to take it and run.
And yes, before all y’all internet doctors start, my first thought when I started to sprout tiny angry welts all over was “DAMN I WILL HAVE TO FIND A NEW SPORT AGAIN.” Second and third suspects after “attack of the pool water” were the body wash I used in the locker room—not one of my usual delicate brands of Fairy Kiss And Unicorn Blood For Whiny Babies With Skin That Tarnishes When Exposed To Goddamn Air Like It’s Silver Or Something, but a scented type that comes in a convenient travel size—and the new brand of lotion I used. Yes, we will be testing these hypotheses, but the I think I have already found the offender.
It’s my goddamn allergy pill.
Or lack thereof. While rummaging around for some antihistamines to slow the itchpocalypse, I remembered that Mom had a similar problem when she forgot to take hers. And I have let mine run out this week.
Which means that I now have two pills with a protection racket going on, where the withdrawal effects are worse than never starting the pills in the first place. They’re little chemical versions of the mafia. Rotten bastards.
But even though this may suggest that I can still go swimming, it really didn’t do much for my week. Maybe I should just cancel it altogether.
*We try to help out around the house, but after a lifetime of being useless little kids, it’s hard to break that habit of taking care of our immediate needs and either leaving other things for someone else to do, or noticing them only when they’re pointed out to us. Fortunately, I seem to do better at seeing what needs doing when Mom’s not around.
**My sister and I were thrilled with the outcome of Men’s Skating, right down to Lysacek winning and Plushenko raising a tantrum because silver is a blow to his giant thunderous sun-blotting ego. We would have been disappointed if he hadn’t pitched a fit, because one of the reasons we love him is that he’s a haughty diva who we’d probably kick in the teeth if we ever met him in person. He’s got a right to be a bit egotistical—his performance here was lackluster, but he’s a damn fine skater—but we trust him to take it and run.
