In an article a few years ago in The New Yorker ("The Itch," by Atul Gawande) really impressed upon me the idea of the power of the human experience of *itch.* It told the story of people who had some sort of itching issues - from itching on the phantom limb of amputees (it happens, and since you can NEVER scratch it, it's endless) to the strange neurological cases that experience persistent itches. There was a story of a woman who had this itch on her scalp, with no known physical reason (not a rash or the like), and no psychological reason either, as far as they could see....but she scratched so much, she scratched through to her brain. She had a real itch problem.
I mentioned this to a co-worker, who seemed skeptical, and then several days later she saw me in the hall and said, "I didn't believe you on that weird article, so I looked it up and I saw it was true." She generally considers me trustworthy, but it's something I would doubt too if someone just told me about it.
The truth is, it can be overwhelming - very distracting, like a sort of pain, even. Some people feel that way about tickling, but I'd probably stop short of saying that. I recently experienced some crazy, state-of-the-art, top line itching sessions. I experienced some very special time with mosquitoes in upstate New York; the non-event of Hurricane Irene brought them up from the South, an especially fierce breed that swarmed at all times of day or night, not just dusk. I had 18 mosquito bites at one point: on my cheek, neck, eyelid, chin, arms, hip, ankles and one on my pinkie toe.
They woke me up in the middle of the night, added exponentially to the physical difficulties of writing a three-day novel (it's already tough enough), looked unsightly, and just generally sucked. It finally got so bad that I took a nighttime walk to the local grocery store (Hannaford) - the cicadas were magnificent - to get some Benadryl, and it helped but not much. I tried apple cider vinegar, and hot water, and those worked a bit too.
But in the end, I just had to live through it. As they say, when one is faced with a difficult situation, sometimes the only way out is through.
Just by happenstance, I'd also recently waxed my legs for, like, the third time ever in my life. I do it ever so often because I think I'm wrong when I'm remembering how incredibly itchy the re-growth is. I'm not wrong - it's awful. And hardly anything helps.
Oh well, it's just one more week of the same thing that drove me nuts last week. As you know, I assume that there's meaning in everything, and so there's probably meaning in this, right? What could it be? What happens when someone experiences a chronic but mildly annoying condition? How do you feel when it goes away?
Very, very grateful, I imagine. I can hardly wait - but I will try to be here now.
I mentioned this to a co-worker, who seemed skeptical, and then several days later she saw me in the hall and said, "I didn't believe you on that weird article, so I looked it up and I saw it was true." She generally considers me trustworthy, but it's something I would doubt too if someone just told me about it.
The truth is, it can be overwhelming - very distracting, like a sort of pain, even. Some people feel that way about tickling, but I'd probably stop short of saying that. I recently experienced some crazy, state-of-the-art, top line itching sessions. I experienced some very special time with mosquitoes in upstate New York; the non-event of Hurricane Irene brought them up from the South, an especially fierce breed that swarmed at all times of day or night, not just dusk. I had 18 mosquito bites at one point: on my cheek, neck, eyelid, chin, arms, hip, ankles and one on my pinkie toe.
They woke me up in the middle of the night, added exponentially to the physical difficulties of writing a three-day novel (it's already tough enough), looked unsightly, and just generally sucked. It finally got so bad that I took a nighttime walk to the local grocery store (Hannaford) - the cicadas were magnificent - to get some Benadryl, and it helped but not much. I tried apple cider vinegar, and hot water, and those worked a bit too.
But in the end, I just had to live through it. As they say, when one is faced with a difficult situation, sometimes the only way out is through.
Just by happenstance, I'd also recently waxed my legs for, like, the third time ever in my life. I do it ever so often because I think I'm wrong when I'm remembering how incredibly itchy the re-growth is. I'm not wrong - it's awful. And hardly anything helps.
Oh well, it's just one more week of the same thing that drove me nuts last week. As you know, I assume that there's meaning in everything, and so there's probably meaning in this, right? What could it be? What happens when someone experiences a chronic but mildly annoying condition? How do you feel when it goes away?
Very, very grateful, I imagine. I can hardly wait - but I will try to be here now.
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