|Giddy with spring, as inevitable as azaleas
||[Apr. 18th, 2013|02:02 pm]
I know, I know. Where the hell have I been?
Vacation. Coming home sick. Spraining my ankle. Staying sick. Getting antibiotics. Having an allergic reaction to antibiotics. Having a further allergic reaction to my allergic reaction.
Every post I started was just a giant whine. I couldn’t manage to drive the whine someplace funny, or thought provoking, just farther into the territory of Pathetic. Which made me feel even more pathetic. And laboring under a double dose of Benadryl and every other antihistamine the doctor and I could think of….I felt as if I had a glimmer of what my friends who suffer from bipolar disorder and similar disorders complain about, that slight fog, wrapped in cotton, vaguely muffled, non-creative and apathetic. And then I looked at the calendar and realized that I’ve been sick or broken or both since March 5th. And that was depressing and I wallowed in the bathtub of self-pity for a while.
But I lack depressive stamina, and thankfully my apathetic fog is medication induced and the downside of stopping the meds is just wanting to flay the skin off my body with scratching. I can bear it a bit and harness what little part of my brain that’s not involved in the “oh, god, oh, god it itches, it itches, DON’T SCRATCH, DON’T SCRATCH, oh please just a little gentle, I won’t use my fingernails, promise” sarabande.
So right, here’s the problem: I’m allergic to my own allergic reactions. Specifically histamine. I started with genuine hives from the antibiotic. And they did start to subside when the antibiotics finally flushed out. But it was too late. Too itchy for too long, too much mindless scratching. Every time I scratch, my cells release histamine. My immune system goes “AUAHAHHA, HISTAMINE, PANIC, I’M GOING TO DEAL WITH THIS BY BECOMING INFLAMED…and itchy…and flood you with MORE HISTAMINE” My immune system is a 13 year old girl in the front row of a Justin Beiber concert. In a tizzy, personified.
So, the hives are all gone, but now half my body is covered in what I call firerash. It manages to combine itchy with a slight burning sensation. It’s expletive awesome. Because antihistamines, astringent dressings, soakings and rum aside (the rum is my own prescription, feeling the need for a wee bit of devil-may-care, which rum is great for), I’m still covered in rash, I still itch all over the place and while it’s gradually receding…it’s doing so at glacial speed. Pre-global warming glaciers, that is. And I’m planning a big surprise party and two critters near and dear to my heart just died, and I’m so far behind at work, it’s all I can do to not hyperventilate myself into a vapor cloud. (Thankfully the Benadryl helps with that.)
But who cares, it’s spring, it’s spring, it’s spring and I’m surrounded by antidotes – that certain green that new leaves are; the soon-to-be-mama robin, the one who lurks nearby while I’m weeding and waits for me to throw her worms, she’s back; things are blooming and sprouting all over the yard and my garden pots are filled with tender hope and promise.
No, I haven’t been replaced by alien pods….”filled with tender hope and promise” might sound optimistic and cheerful to you…to me it’s recognition that even this temporary blissful state, like English peas, will soon be over. And it will be all “why did you die? What’s with the bolting? That’s, IT, I’m never planting X again. And Expletive squirrel, put down that tomato. There will be a time for that, but like English peas, in the meantime, I’m gorging myself on it.
Here, while I get used to writing for fun again, here are two things. An amazing invention. And yes, you're going to watch darn near the whole thing thinking when am I going to see the helmet? And then you swear. If you're me. You might have a more mature reaction:
And, while I’m not quite ready to re-design my life to fit a greyhound back into it yet, here’s why I will – turn down the volume if German punk rock isn’t your thing, and be a little patient for the good parts – but embodiment of strength, grace and power, here it is. Plus if you never understood why a greyhound (and cheetah) are so much faster than similarly shaped animals, the answer is double suspension gallop, and this is an excellent visual. I can’t pass up the chance to have such beauty in my life. Even if it pukes on my carpet and sheds on my coat and has to go out at 2am.