I’m having a running ridiculous battle with bugs — the ones that sting or bite.
I can be out for just an hour in the afternoon, minding my own business, reading pulp, and all of a sudden I feel a sharp pain. I look down and there is a little bugger hanging on my ankle, ass or hand, which are the usual spots they like to bite. Spiders love to get down the neck of my t-shirt and give me multiple hickies, too.
Scott will sit out for an entire decade and not get bitten, not once.
Trouble in my realm is that the bites take a week to go away. Some of them, like the one I am nursing today, don’t even reveal themselves for several days and suddenly wake me in the middle of the night. Even taking an antihistamine doesn’t help much.
It drives me bananas.
The one I got on Sunday surfaced today. It’s on my right ring finger. I knew I had been stung seconds after the deed was done, when I noticed a throbbing vein on my knuckle. It went away quickly, after I iced it, but it came back with a vengeance this morning. No amount of ice is helping.
It’s making me sad, ornery, even. Hard to write with a throbbing knuckle.
This combined with excruciating acid reflux is giving me one miserable day.
I can’t stand it. I want to pour some drano down my gullet and take this knife, the one right here, and cut the damned finger off.
I may have to resort to some strong medicine, perhaps a martini, extra olives. Take my book outside and watch yet another powerful storm destroy Gatineau. Full disclosure here. The martinis might be largely responsible for the gut pain — it was a long night in the backyard last night. My son and I were solving the problems of the world, and by the time Scott got home, he said my lip was drooping. Sadly, I ordered another round.
Okay, okay. No lectures.
I’ve been good for weeks and weeks.
Spoiler alert! Rationalization coming.
It’s my birthday week. I’m also celebrating Will and Kate’s arrival and drinking gin in honor of the Queen Mum who apparently took her first gin and tonic before midday. As the elder Elizabeth might say: “Something must be worth celebrating before lunch!”
I promise to reform next week, after Will and Kate stop by, and after I wring out another year.
A year so significant, I had to order an extra large cake in order to accommodate the candles.
It’ll probably be Monday before I resurface as I’m off to be feted tomorrow lunch time, will spend Thursday in recovery, then lurch toward the long weekend. There’s a party afoot on Saturday, soooooo.
Damned this itchy finger. I don’t even have a trigger.