When The Itch Needs Scratching

So, here I am, again. Well, I’ve been here all along. It’s just that I haven’t posted as much this week. I know. For shame, spankings needed, yaddah-yaddah-yaddah. Listen, if you were in my position, would you rather sit, dosed up on antihistamines, in front of a computer, typing that you’re itchy and bored and sleepy? Or would you do the decent thing and give your body some rest?

It’s been quite a week. A massive, sleepy and blurry trip on medication. Very Fear and Loathing-lite. Or not at all, if you think about it. There’s nothing remotely literary about waking up at 4 pm to find your legs full with red bumps. Even less so when you’re doing a phone interview at the same time. I feel like a twit for actually saying to the woman on the phone that I “appeared to have broken out in some kind of rash”. I fucking hope she doesn’t transcribe that!

The hive-attack did have a nice side-effect. I’ve now started eating healthier and thinking healthier. There’s nothing like a trip to ER to put every silly little worry in your head to rest. I took a walk around town with Mamma B today, and it felt incredible. Plus, I was wearing The Heels, so everything was just a bit more awesome.

The hives aren’t going to go away permanently, from what I gathered. I don’t know if any of you gorgeous people have experienced it, but advice is welcome. All I can think of is keeping up the healthy eating and thinking (although the thinking isn’t going to make the UNGODLY itching go away).

There’s this strange calm that comes over me, after a few days of something like this. I start planning things; lovely things that make me look forward to the next week, month, six months, and so on. I feel like a normal person. Which is good, considering the fact that I mostly felt like an overworked nutcase for the past few weeks.

I know I promised to tell you about sexy things. Keep hanging in there, because it’s coming.

But can you blame me for feeling less like a wanton sex goddess, and more like an albino dalmatian this week? Seriously, it was like little patches of itch had manifested on my body. My legs still look like mini- warzones.

I’ve never cared this much about my body. You always tend to shy away from thinking about it when you’re not “up to a standard” with other people. Bullshit, of course. You are allowed to care about your body. In fact, you should bloody well, anyway! I’ve neglected myself for years, and now that I’m treating my body right (ergh, listen to me…) I feel so much better.

The reason I put that bit between brackets is that I really don’t want to be a whinge. It’s just that it’s true. Treat your body right and it’ll give you strength to work, walk, dance and all that pleasant stuff.

I genuinely hope that I’ve not put you off me or my entire blog by just saying this. Because I’m going to say it more. I bloody love eating fresh soup or getting out and taking a walk (in The Heels) because it does my spirits and my body well. It makes me not think about bad things. It makes me feel quite alive, actually. So, if you don’t mind, I’m going to take myself for a stroll around the park more often.

Right, update-y time then! I’m working on a musing on my breasts, which is something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now. I don’t know how it’s going to turn out. Might be good, might be a piece of plonk. Either way, it’ll be here, so be on the look-out for it!

Dad’s not at all well, I think. He’s… doing odd stuff. It started with going to bed at 5pm. Then, he began to mill about in his room, apparently rearranging his sheets. Now, it’s come to him going to the loo, several times, using up nearly all our toilet paper. Yeah, I don’t really know what to think of it. We’re talking to his psychiatrist very soon, so that might offer some help.

I’ve cut down on all the work I wanted to do, and narrowed it down to what I really think I can write in the given space of time. So, if you want to hear about my works in progress, check out my other blog in the sidebar, for updates of a more writer-y persuasion.

Random picture to end on? But of course.

Cos Chris Pine looking like a rentboy will never grow old. *contented sigh*

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  1. Proud of you, girl. xo


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