I wish I could regale you, wonderful reading public at large, with thrill-packed tales of a weekend well spent. But instead I’m going to whine about my mosquito bites.
I got my “first bite” of the summer last week and thought even, maybe I could note that in my journal and spin it as “summer’s almost here,” but forgot about it or maybe it was one of three days last week my work computer was crashed and it slipped my mind. Now I have no fewer than 15 bites (all bitten in the last 24 hours) all over my arms and legs and am no longer enthusiastic about spinning these into a seasonal metaphor. I’m enthusiastic for ripping the skin of my legs, arms and fingers (Finger! What kind of retarded mosquito bites a finger!) as the itching and pain is driving me insane. These aren’t cute little pink dimples, either… when I get bitten, the bite swells and spreads out to the size of a quarter or half-dollar. I look like I have some kind of Pepto-Bismol-colored leprosy.
I get bit at night, because I leave the window open—hot out, y’know. After the first night of being bitten, I closed the window. There was definitely already one or several bugs in my room, so I covered my face and body with the blanket (Mosquitos are powerless against Crate and Barrel bedsheets), but kept waking up because I thought I was going to boil to death in my sleep. I turned the AC on (First time this year! Summer’s almost here), spraying collected dust (or as I call it, “9-11 confetti”) and spore-based disease all over the room and blowing the fuse at 4 AM. I lost my shit and just resigned to being bitten and resolved to get 10 yards of mosquito netting to make into some sort of mummy-bag to sleep in and some citronella-infused press-on nails before I go home tonight.
I’m annointing myself with generic brand topical analgesics on the quarter hour.