Ice ice baby

Sometimes I feel jaded and experienced and old. Not often mind you, but sometimes.

Then I come to this office. It's 14C outside, it's raining, I'm wearing winter garments. And yet, every single flipping window is open. I think there are even two fans going. My fingers are going blue, my feet encased in ice and yet there are several women bemoaning how hot they are. FFS, go to your doctor, get the HRT - it's not hard to do.

I'm not exactly sure why I have to freeze to death because your temperature is governed by your hormones. Why should I have to think about bringing hat/gloves/scarf/coat to work in the month of August? I'm not impressed.

So today I feel not so jaded, not so old. It's a result of sorts.

The Bumps

I'm allergic to animals. All of them it appears, even the flying and 8 legged beasties.

This summer has been particularly bad for the animals liking my skin, blood, fur. And I've been feasted on quite merrily. I'm kind of au-fait with the process now.

And bored with it.

This is my day to day guide.

Day one comes the big red patch, it's like a tomato has bled on your body.
Half way though day one: you start to swell.
Now if the bite is on a piece of skin that you like to expose, you're not onto a winner. In fact, in my opinion, Winner turns to Whiner. Because by swelling I mean, the tomato bleeding bit has swelled to an epic proportion. This last one I've had is not so bad, it is only the size of my palm. I find applying some sort of anti septic cream helps - the nurses say it doesn't, I say I am a fan of the placebo effect. Copious amounts of chocolate directly applied to the mouth is also good.

Day two and you feel ill. I imagine the sucker's poison is traversing through my system. My body reacts by increasing the swelling size and forming a huge blister. Thanks Body, you're AWESOME! You also start feeling like road kill. Hot and feverish. Clammy, And ill. And all other things road kill feels like. Dead and matted and emotional.
The temptation to lance the boil must not be given into.. not until day 4 at the very least.

The tomato patch and blister will be hot to touch, and sore. However, people will marvel at the size and regale you with when it happened to them. It never happened to them, not like this. Spider stories get boring very quickly but do try to smile through the pain. If you wanted, you could do a score card on how many people tell you that a million baby spiders will hatch from patch. 10 points gets you a vodka. 11 gets you two.

If you bother to seek medical advice, be prepared for nurses being shocked - it's a little bit off putting at first. But you must remember, these are very often nurses from the Northern Hemisphere, not the tropics, they are not used to these beasties. They will give you medication and sympathy. It will work. Don't take pictures of the offending article... it never looks as bad as it feels and quite frankly when will you show it off? Oh maybe when someone else has a bite and a score card they're hoping to score a vodka off?

Repeat until day 5 when you will give into the blister and lance it. You'll be sick of people gasping over your bite and you'll also be sick of marvelling over it's largeness.  Don't forget sterilisation is rather important if you're going to lance. 

And after day 6, your body will be back to it's wondrous self. You'll be a little grumpy for a day or two, I think this is because the poison hasn't fully left the body. You'll be tired.  So sleep dammit.

Repair and reward your body with great food, great company, drinks and a road trip. It's what I'm doing this weekend. Only two legged animals allowed. #fact

Pins in the head

It's a Tuesday. The sun is shining. The birds are all a twitter. There's a soft breeze blowing and it's summertime.

And where am I? Well, I'm not outside. I'm in a place where the good, the bad and the ugly congregate. A place so cold in atmosphere, I'm wearing a jersey (outside it is 20+C). A place where I keep trying to escape and they keep dragging me back. A place no one can believe you'd want to leave. Leave? Heavens, why ever would you want to do such a thing? The thing is... I'm actually not ready for the scrap heap, I'm not ready to throw myself a retirement party. I'm not ready to say the same phrase 15 times a day, 5 days a week... that's approx 3850 times a year - give or take public holidays. I'm not ready to be bored. And I know that's what I am.

What I am ready for is to shine and sparkle and do things. Do bloody great things with my time. Do bloody great things with time.

I had another blog to write, but as so often happens, my mind pins onto something else and this has been the pin in my head for a few long weeks.