Of course, it's the apocalypse

… or Armageddon or the Rapture.

I don’t know. I stopped getting the paper a while ago.

Do I care? Heck, looks like most of us here (as in the gay, liberal, heathen, artsy-fartsy burg where I reside) are heading in the same direction. We’ll have a party.

At least I don’t have to worry so much that my roots have grown out an inch and a half.  The scale at the doctor’s office says I’m eating way more than I trick myself into thinking every day. Bah! I say. More insulation against the eternal hellfire.

End of the world? Judgment day? I say bring it! As a dearly departed friend used to say to me though a veil of laughter-induced tears: We’re riding the greased pole to hell, sister.

Perhaps in hell, with a backdrop of molten lava and flickering flames and all the obligatory thigh and butt maximizing red jumpsuits we’ll be wearing, I won’t feel so bad that my skin is covered head to toe in huge, angry red welts. I won’t be shunned; I’ll be well accessorized.

So, yeah, what better time to break out in a mysterious case of the hives? The itching began last week on the tops of my feet. I was on a long walk around the neighborhood when I stopped to give my feet tops a good scratch. I blamed it on the wet grass. After a while, I found myself doing odd things like leaning against sign posts to scratch with abandon. When I reached my car,  I took off my sandals and found my feet screaming with red blisters.

As the week went on the creeping malaise migrated north, sparing nothing along the way. I was a walking exclamation point.

Part of me is wondering if this is my early pass to hell so that by the time I get there I’ll be as red and miserable as the devil. Part of me is wondering if I’ll be wearing a head-to-toe veil when I go out tonight. Part of me (remember there are more parts of me than ever before) is wondering if I brought this on myself. Not so much in a Catholic guilt kind of way, although I know that stuff is ingrained, but in a gee-how-much-more-stress-and-worry can I carry before some major system in my body just fails?

The doctor thinks food or environmental allergy. Shots and many tests await.

Cheers. I’ll either see some of you in the fiery furnace or I’ll post on Tuesday.

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12 thoughts on “Of course, it's the apocalypse

  1. That is so many kinds of awful. I hope you find something to soothe the rash – I get horrible eczema on my hands and will wake up scratching. I can’t imagine all over my body.

    Sending healing, cortizone thoughts.

  2. First you get boils and then I think frogs are supposed to fall out of the sky, so I’d get out your umbrella if I were you! Seriously, hope today is less itchy. I broke out in a weird rash after I had my first baby. For some reason dabbing vinegar and water helped so I think I had some weird nursing related fungus. Motherhood is so glamorous.

  3. Tanya: Not done yet. It’s the amazing, mysterious here one day, there the next rash. Today I look like a 16-year-old boy with my blotchy face.

  4. yikes – well consider it an open invitation to channel your inner 16 yr old boy: hole up in your room and play video games, or drive around with your music blaring out of your car. 🙂 I’d be digging out my multi sided dice and my Magic The Gathering cards…

  5. Tanya: I do that every time I’m in the car with the music blasting and my hands drum beating the steering wheel. Now, with a blotchy face and greasy hair — score — the look is complete.
    Meleah: Nope. I’m day by day until I can get my battery of tests.

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