The poison ivy chronicles, continued

Do you guys remember this extremely disturbing article about the woman who couldn't stop the itch (and eventually scratched a hole to her brain)?

I'm not quite there yet. Actually, a week into my third round of poison ivy, I've gotten better at not scratching.

The first round was brutal. The steroids helped the itch, but kept me up. As of Monday, I'm officially off the juice.

The second round--which is limited to one section of my forearm, and in its last week as we speak--is pretty mild.

The third round resulted from my final attempts to eradicate the monster from my backyard. I wore protective gear. Nonetheless, it's almost impossible not to expose any body part. As a result, the rashes are back, although still not as bad as the first time around. And I don't have to go back on oral steroids. But it still itches. And I still can't sleep.

Remember I told you I hoped at first it was a mosquito bite? With this round, I was afraid it was bug bites, but since I would wake up to discover the bumps, I worried it was a spider or something. I do prefer poison ivy to bed bugs.

I couldn't reach some of the ivy, even to spray. It's dying, but it's going to fall at some point, and I'm going to have to handle it again. In protective gear. But that only takes you so far.

***
I just flipped off my cat. I am literally sick of her $hit.

I hate her. I don't know why I keep her around. She's not that cute.

I found myself summing it up the other day to a friend: I guess I'd rather she annoy the crap out of me than be dead.

Barring that, I hate her fat, whiny ass.