F YOU, Poison Ivy.

People. OMFG. As though my life couldn’t get any more turbulent. I have to have a tete à tete {and GD – my accent isn’t working for the “e” in tete, that is going to bother me for forever} with poison mother f-ing ivy.

No, My People. You did not misread. That’s correct. Poison Ivy. As in the single worst living thing ever. And I’m one for all things living and breathing, well, not anything anymore that has the word “poison” in it. Forget it. Over it. DONE.

And NO. For the millionth time, I don’t know what poison ivy looks like {prior to this} because I never had it before. And I never did think it was a smart idea to roll around in any sorts of leaves when I was a youngin’.

Which brings me to your most pressing question of, how the F did your ass end up with poison ivy.

Right. How did I?

Well. Honestly, I thought this was something that started at the end of Paris. My lips were feeling extremely dry and irritated, but I also thought it was normal — we were out 8+ hours a day and it was still fairly cold. Of course my skin is going to take a beating.

Return home. Lip irritation continues. Within a week is noticeably worse. I ignore. I practice my “healing vibes” and mantras and over use of Apple Cider Vinegar.

It’s helping. It’s not helping. And back and forth till a few days later, something is just seriously wrong. My lips are full on itching, burning, tingling and hello, looks like I’ve had 19 collagen injections.

I can’t eat, I can’t drink much and I don’t want to talk. I know – all of which are huge tragedies! I don’t know how I made it either.

So I take doctory action and am told I have Herpes. Look, nothing against all of you with Herpes and who have had cold sores, since it’s like some crazy 70% of our population carries it — well, I never have.

And I just knew that that’s not what it was. Yet I found myself downing Valetrex like it was my second full time job and then having to explain to everyone why I’m on Valtrex. Awkward. Awkward. Awkward.

I don’t think anyone was buying it. But, for real … I really was telling the truth.

Back to another doctor last week who takes one look at me and is all, omg! honey! STOP THE VALTREX! YOU’VE GOT POISON IVY!

Stared at her, no words. Just stared. Wanted to cry. Desperately. Staring much better option than crying. Because oh yay! Guess what! Turns out it’s all over me. Hurrah!

All those other little patches of skin irritations that were on my arms and wrists and legs? Poison. Un-fing-real.

So I get put on massive amounts of steroids. That’s right, I’m ‘roided up. Watch the F out. The first two days I felt like I was on hardcore drugs. I mean, if I ever had been on hardcore drugs, I imagine that’s what it would have felt like.

Because not like I have been on real drugs, I’m just saying, I’m pretty sure had I – this is what my life would have been.

Up all night. Manic bouts of cleaning things like drawers and closests and floors at the most bizarre hours when I suddenly feel like I can function. In a jacked up haze of thoughts and emotions running so high I can’t even make sense and holy hell, don’t let me say a GD word. Make sure I stay silent because no one will believe I’m not hopped up on something illegal if I open my mouth.

Trying to sleep but having a racing heart and tired body at 4a.m.

Lovely. Just loveliness, these ‘roids. Now, I’m not going to complain about the loss of appetite and four pounds. No, no. We’re going to go with that one.

All the other ‘roidness, if it could only be so kind to exit my system, that would be highly appreciated.

And oh yeah, how did I get this? Right. See. It’s the ‘roids talking for me.

Murphy. Dear beloved Murphy. It’s the only thing I can think, because, yes, our yard has a nice ‘ol patch of it where he does his doggy things.

How The BF and Brother avoided this, is beyond me. You should have seen the look and heard my laughter when I was asked at this most recent appointment if I work out in the yard frequently.

I had one of those horror movie laughter voices. Ha. Lady, are you kidding me. Do I look like someone who would be competent in a backyard, with backyard tools — I wanted to say powertools but I don’t even know if you use powertools in a backyard? — No, I stay away from anything involving the words “work” followed or preceded by “yard”.

Murphy makes sense as the natural carrier, and since he sleeps literally up against me and we hold and spoon one another all night long … yes, no wonder that shit ended up on my freaking lips.

And can I take a moment to tell you the pure embarrassment of poison ivy on your lips! Though not nearly as embarrassing as walking around and telling people your lips are all dried out, itchy and irritated and having people think I’m talking about my actual vayjay.

FYI – do a Google search with those keywords and you will get porn sites. Just saying.

So I’m trying to be on damage control and not look like I’ve reprized the role of the Joker. I’ve been hopped up on the ‘roids for a solid week, out of it, barely able to keep pace at any of my normal activities {me, 20 minutes of yoga?! there’s an all time new low} and function but really, People …

I feel like I’m about to hit another wall.

This doesn’t happen to me. I don’t feel shitty for two solid straight weeks. And I sure as hell don’t get an outbreak of Poison Ivy {that now includes my eyelids and ears, so fun!}.

What is going on? I know this is just running it’s course, but it doesn’t help. I want to feel better … like four GD days ago. And I desperately want my mouth to heal and don’t feel like I’m a walking plague.

For like the 11th time within a couple weeks, send good vibes. I need them. My lips need them. Every square inch of my itching skin needs them.

I know, it kinda is funny. And I haven’t even gotten to the Mango Mouth. Yes, that is a real thing.

I eat a ton of mangoes and guess what. Double hurrah, mangoes contain the same urushiol that’s in poison ivy, so I had a further horrible allergic reaction.

Okay, Okay. Enough. I should apologize. Wait. No I shouldn’t. Real time, real me with poison ivy. And I’m not going to pretend it’s fun when it’s not.

But I am going to have to pretend that I’m healed, I feel great and all is well. All is wonderful. Wellbeing abounds. I just gotta reconnect with it …

WEll being as my new mantra … but I’m still going to be saying a silent, F you, to the poison ivy.

 

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