Feels like burning

You know it's hot outside when you're sitting inside in your air conditioned office and you're complaining about the heat. 

Or it could be my hot flashes - it's hard to tell.

Under my skin

I haven’t been writing lately. I was worried that it was because I now have a job that requires me to be a writer all day, but I don’t think it’s that – I produced some good stuff my first week. I think it’s my skin.

What? How could it be my skin you ask? It can. It’s draining the life out of me. I don’t sleep through the night, I’m constantly distracted because either I’m crazily itchy or my body temperature is going nuts, making me ridiculously uncomfortable, or I’m too busy trying to tend the ever changing conditions of my face that I have little to no time to do much else.

I miss writing. It saddens me that my last post was at the beginning of this month. I’ve thought of so many good thing to write (including a chronicle of what it’s like being in my skin – yes, pun intended – for a day), but I just haven’t been able to focus on something long enough to get it done. And when I have a moment of clarity, I find I have to spend it on something responsible like cooking or cleaning rather than on creative release.
...

Dear Skin,

Can’t we just be friends again?

melody

Looking like shit

I BBMed Señorita just now:

  "I put more poo on my face.  This stuff is amazing."

The things that only your best friend would understand...
...

The (Second) Poo Story


So, my gloriously convenient eczema decided to break out under my lip recently.  I wasn't too worried because the last time that it did that, I found this cream that totally killed it in 2 days flat.  This time, it was oozy and cracked and gross for like, a week now.  Anytime it FELT like it was starting to get better, it would just go ahead and get gross a couple hours later.

Ugh.

So Señorita came over today on a totally unrelated matter, but I whined my heart out to her about it anyway--that my damn face would just not dry up and heal.  Being an RN, she stared at me and thought about it.

  "Do you want to try some of that iodosorb paste we put on Malcolm's foot?"

Sure, if she thought it'd help.  A while ago, Malcolm had a wound on his foot that was also having a hard time scabbing over and healing because it was just so wet.  Señorita had brought this stuff for him that I'd known he'd been putting on his foot that healed him up good and quick, but I'd never really paid much attention.

So, sterile gauze, saline, and paste in hand, she tended to me.  She checked me out and cleaned me up first, and then out came the paste.

  "That's what the paste looks like?"

Squeezed out of the tube onto a little square of gauze, the paste looked like a little squirt of baby poo.

Yup.  That's what it looked like and that's what she smeared on my face.  Okay, so I had shitty paste smeared on my face.  How long should this stay on for?

  "Let's try it for at least 20 minutes."

As so we carried on.  We chatted, had our coffee/shake, shared stories, searched the web, touched up the poo when it started to slide out of place from under my lip, checked out dating profiles, played with the cat.

Before she left for the day and I went to get ready to leave the house for a meeting, Señorita was kind enough to clean me up.

  "Yeah, I don't think this is going to stain too badly..."

STAIN?!  I wish I'd had a picture of the moment she realized that she forgot this might stain my skin a bit.  Talk about an "oh shit..." moment, while she was dabbing at my face with saline.  Regardless, it didn't stain my skin (too badly) and according to her professional opinion, it had helped.  For me, the result wasn't apparent until 3 hours later when I checked myself out again at home.

It worked.

My skin was still a little cracked and dry, but it definitely wasn't gaping or oozing.  With a solid 2 hours before I had to be anywhere else, I decided to go for a second round of treatment...hence, the BBM message.

Hey, if you can't smear shit on your face at home in front of your best friend, when can you?

Super skin

With the amount of skin that I shed in a single day, I swear you could build another human shell out of it. It's ridiculous.

Skin and I are not friends at the moment. We're working on re-building our relationship, but it's still tense at best.

To make myself feel better about all the eczema and shedding of skin, I have convinced myself that I have a small superpower to explain it with: I have the ability to grow skin at 10x the normal speed. This explains why I can shed so much and still not be a walking being of just exposed muscle. And because I grow skin so fast, I have to shed it, otherwise it will just amass into a super-coating of shell-like quality, restricting my free movement.

It's tough being a super-human. Really tough.
...

Update - 12:40am

I was driving home and remembered that when I was little, I used to also believe that my skin was trying to transform in to scales since I was so good at swimming. It only made sense. I used to even have a little line of what looked like scales on my arm. They're still there, but they only show up when they get lots of sun...which I seem to be allergic to now, so unfortunately I can't show you just now. :(

Opposites

Dear Malcolm,

I love you so much--Happy Birthday, babe!

mel

----------

Dear Skin,

I hate you.

mel

Romancing

I think that I love you
I think that I do
So go on mister
Make Miss me Mrs you
...

But how do you know?
...

It's nighttime, and my skin is hating me. I have no idea what the fuck it wants. I'm out of the sun already, and I moisturize more than usual. Something inside wants out and while I'm not stopping it, I don't know what it is so I can't help it!
...

Ye born in the month of October are most likely instilled with an innate sense of romance--you're Valentine's babies, afterall. I know I am--instilled with an innate sense of romance, that is.
...

Boo sent me the last episode of FREINDS tonight. I watched it and sobbed like the sap that I am. I miss my FRIENDS.
...

I'd get off the plane.

My Vampire Diary

When I wake up and realize I forgot to close the blinds, I have to panic. I don't play down at the beach anymore. I wear sunglasses, a hat and a scarf to go out during the day, even if it's summer. I no longer ask for a seat by the window. I am slowly becoming a vampire--a champion of the night--fearful of the sun. I don't drink blood yet; hopefully I won't have to.
...

Okay, maybe not a vampire. I don't turn to ashes like Dracula, I don't glitter like Edward (though that'd be an awesome alternative, considering). Instead, I burn in minutes, hive in hours, then my skin peels for days. Even if I'm wearing sunscreen. It's just come up, this allergy to the sun, so I'm not used to having to deal with it.

I still remember the days when I was a kid and all the other mothers were slathering their kids with sunscreen while my brother and I were already out and running through the sun, completely unprotected from the sun. The other kids would still burn by the end of the day--we would go home unscathed with golden tans.

Now, I stand outside in a parking lot on a sunny, but cool autumn day for a 10 minute post-lunch conversation and I breakout. I sleep in while the sun streams in through the open blinds on my face and I breakout. FML.

Who's allergic to the sun? Who develops an allergy to the sun after more than a quarter of a century of loving to soak it up? I asked my GP the last time I went to visit her during my latest bout if there was anything she could think of that I could do to prevent breakouts. She sadly smiled and shrugged and sympathetically suggested:

    "Live in a bubble?"

*sigh*

And so, I'm confined to long-sleeves, pants, scarves, hats and sunglasses at least until December 7th when I can finally visit my dermatologist and allergy guy. At least it's not the dead of summer. :(

Gripping suspense

The continuation of the DeathGrip post was to carry on the family lineage. While my mother inherently has the DeathGrip, I do not.

You know how sometimes when you're rock-climbing and all you need to do to reach the next hand/leg hold is to grip the one hold really tightly and reach? Yeah--no grippage means no reach means thank goodness for safety ropes (my belayer!).

Or, you know when you're a kid playing tug-of-war and you have to hold onto the rope nice and tight to help your team pull and win? Yeah, no pull-age from me. Not because I'm not strong, but because I can't hold on to the dang rope.

Or, you know those stupid games where you're both supposed to squeeze each other's hands as hard as you can until one of you calls 'uncle'? Yeah, I never won.

Chin-ups? Nope.

While I can manage a firm enough handshake, I generally incur teasing from my peers whenever the topic of "how strong is your grip?" ever arises. Yeah, I'm a little ashamed...it's weak.

So apparently the DeathGrip was one trait I didn't inherit from my mother.

Or so I thought.

I was in bed the other night, sleeping, but apparently scratching my skin really badly. It was loud and vigorous enough for me to be nudged a few times to be encouraged to stop.

    "Honey, *nudge* honey stop scratching."

And with that nudging, I did stop...only to turn semi-consciously snatch at the wrist that was nudging me, catch it, and squeeze.

Yes, it is true. I applied the DeathGrip in my sleep.

While it was never my intention to inflict pain, while I apologized profusely, while I felt bad for my semi-conscious act of violence, I have to say I was a little proud. So the lesson: don't mess with me (in my sleep) if you don't want to feel the wrath of the GRIP*.
...

Not to be confused with the Grippe. Just to be sure. ;)

From the Department of Redundancy Department

Call me cheesy, but I like the billboard ads they have out right now for Coca-Cola's Fresca. (I'd have posted images, but alas, Google could find me none.)

"10 out of 10 Fresca lovers prefer Fresca!"

"Available wherever Fresca is sold!"

I miss you Boo!
...

In other news, I visited yet another TCM doctor regarding my eczema. However, this one's supposed to be an eczema specialist. Anyhoo, I came away from my hour session with her with 4 acupuncture holes in my belly, a list of MORE things NOT to eat (including red meats, alcohol, and sugar), 2 bags of herbs for tea, a jar of organic cream, and $115 less.

This lady's serious. She'd asked me to show her any medications/ointments that I'd been using up until our meeting. She took one look and basically scolded me for even possessing any of them (some even prescribed by my other acupuncturist) and told me to stop taking them immediately. Whew. Whenever I brought up my treatment histories with other TCM practitioners, she grilled me about who they were and where they worked--talk about territorial! She actually explained that she was just curious because since the TCM community was still fairly small, she might know who I'd have visited before...but personally, the explanation came a little too delayed. ;)

Whatever; here I go again, trying yet another method of eczema banishment. I don't know if my eczema's going to go away because of a successful treatment, or because I'm going to have withered away to nothing because there are so many foods I'm not supposed to eat. But, like I said, this lady's serious. She'd been listed as an expert and specialist and really, there's no other way to describe her. There was one thing I DID give her the "smile-and-nod" for when she was explaining further treatment to me:

    "When you wash your hands--even when you're taking a shower--don't use soap. It is very important that you not use soap."
    *smile-and-nod*

ew.

I do want good, clear, eczema-free skin. I do. But coming down to it, if I have to decide between being soap-free or eczema-free, I'm going to have to say it's going to be a tough choice.

There's Nothing "Wrong" With Me...

I've woken up in the morning for the past three days now to be greeted in the mirror by my own startling disfiguration. The area around my eyes has become very red and blotchy. My eyes themselves have swelled up so much that it's actually an effort for me just to keep them open. It looks like I'm wearing a sort of red, deformed masque about three weeks too late. There has not yet been a person I have met outside of my own house who has not asked me what is "wrong" with my face. I initially thought it was a mild allergic reaction of some sort, but the fact that it's persisted this long has me wondering otherwise.

Needless to say, I've been feeling a little self-conscious.

It didn't help when the guy at work literally couldn't stop staring directly at it, nor did it help when the girl at volleyball did the Batman dance in reference to my own nearly hidden eyes--I suppose it could have been funny, but it wasn't when I was trying not to draw attention to myself--and it definitely doesn't help when my mother scrutinizes me every time I run into her at home. I know no harm is intended, but I just doesn't help to make me feel better about myself.

Usually things like this don't bother me. With eczema, I've had to deal with red and blotchy skin my whole life--why let a little thing like this get to me? Probably because I have no idea what's going on and I can't control it. So far nothing I've done has had the slightest effect in reducing the redness or the puffiness.

Because of this, I've been a little introverted for the past few days. I'm the last one into class and the first one out and I don't participate if I don't have to in order to draw the least attention to myself. I've scrapped my usual study sessions at Tim Horton's so I won't worry about other people looking at me. I wear a hat and I pull it down low. I try not to make direct eye contact with anyone, even if I'm speaking to them. I've even avoided talking to anyone I don't absolutely have to in order to keep from having to explain my disfiguration again and again.

However, despite my hermitical behaviour, I agreed to be taken to see a movie tonight by Shmelly. Our arrival at the theatre was timed just right so that we were able to slide into our seats as the lights went down and I could take my hat off in the dark in order to watch the movie. But even as the opening credits began, I couldn't help but think about how horrid I might have looked to anyone who might have caught a peek at my red face and eyes.

But then, at a random moment of the film, my date took my hand into his and gave it a warm squeeze as he leaned over and kissed me softly on my head, whispering reassuring words into my hair.
For that moment and a while to follow, I forgot to be worried about how I looked.
For that moment and a while to follow, I felt back to normal.
For that moment and a while to follow, I felt warm and fuzzy.
For that moment and a while to follow, I remembered I was loved and that nothing else really mattered.

I'm human; I can't help but feel self-conscious about my own misshapeness. But it's nice to know that there are times I don't have to feel self-conscious about anything at all.

Yay Cold Weather

"Whoa, what happened to your forehead?"

Wouldn't it just make your day to have someone say something like this to you upon your first meeting of the day? Flattering, isn't it?

I can't help my eczema, people! And to think that I thought today was a pretty good face-day.
...

Tick...Tick...Tick...

I am completing my fourth year of university. I work at a crappy, part-time job with no benefits. I live at home. I drive my parents' car. I stay out late and worry mostly about such pettiness as when the next time I'll play volleyball is. I am 22-years old.

At the same age, my mother had finished school and attained her hairdressing license. She held a full-time job with benefits. She lived on her own. She drove her own car. She stayed up late, probably worrying about not-so-petty-things such as her up coming wedding.

She was married at age 23. She had her first child (me) and had moved at least twice by 24.

Ever compare your biological clock with those of your parents'?

Tick...tick...tick...

Summer Colours

Bronze
I have a tan. Heavens above, I have a tan! I usually remain pasty white for the whole summer, but yet, five days of beautiful, sunny weather and I've already become somewhat bronzed. It might have something to do with the fact that I do NOTHING during the days anymore as I am unemployed (but looking!), and unfortunately, as Squiggly points out, while I get tanned, he gets paid--a perception that almost takes all the fun out of lying in the sun. :( Sometimes I think it's almost worth it though: heading clubbing on Friday, my beautifully bronzed skin was enough to make a driver miss the fact that the light had already changed to green as he was too busy inspecting me for any tan lines (which I know for a fact he could find none). That was pretty gratifying for a girl that rarely gets any attention otherwise. ;)

Yellow
I was at Tim Horton's earlier today catching an Ice Cappuccino with Hun-Gee before he headed out for the week, and I noticed a couple of yellow cars parked next to each other outside. I think the drivers were friends because they were standing next to their cars, chatting, laughing, and having a good time as their cars sparkled in the sunlight. As nice as their cars looked out there, I knew they weren't those people who meet to talk about their cars and what they've done to them because they owned two fairly different cars: a Mitsubishi Lancer and a Nissan 240, but both sexily yellow.

Even though they hadn't necessarily met to talk about their cars, it got me thinking; what if people had car meets not to compare modifications to their similarly branded cars (Civic meets, Protegé meets), but to compare the colours of their cars--yellow car meets, red car meets, etc. That would be so cool. If you've ever seen a car meet, you know that the meeting cars and drivers can pretty well fill a parking lot, so can you just imagine if all the cars were the same colour? That would be hot. No matter what colour car I drove, I'd show up to the Yellow-car meets--yellow cars and their drivers are usually quite sexy...unless they drive yellow Mazda Protegé5s...those are SO done.

White
White is my favourite colour to wear in the summer--not only does it keep you cool, but it accentuates any bronzing you may have acquired in the sunshine. That, and white goes with anything. I don't think I could ever own enough white articles of clothing. The only downfall to white clothes is that they have to be washed separately from all your other clothes so therefore it may be a little while before you get to wear your favourite white shrit or pants again after they head down to the laundry room. My next planned purchase of white: that bikini from La Vie en Rose. Oh, and a sheer white cotton t-shirt from AE. And a pair of white sandals couldn't be bad. And a white skirt would be nice too...as well as...hehehe...

Blue
Blue skies mean good times. Blue skies also mean time to get outside and get active! Squiggly and I took advantage of the sunny yet cool weather this afternoon to strap on our matching rollerblades and matching wristguards (we swear all of our matching gear was purely coincidental) and went for a round of the neighbourhood on the blades while we chatted. Sure it was brief, but as he pointed out, we probably would've talked sooner or later for a bit on the phone today, so it might as well have been while we were doing something rather than just sitting inside. And just as an FYI, our matching wristguards are also blue. :)

Hey, Want Some Herbs?

I think I'm in love. I think I'm in love with my herbalist. No, really.

After trying tubes and bottles and vats of creams upon creams, pre-scriptioned and not, I'd just about nearly given up on my eczema-strickened skin. My itchies had gotten as bad as they'd ever been in years. Watching in agony for the past many months and yet still on the losing side of the battle with my skin, my mother took charge of me and decided to drag me to the Chinese herbalist that my family had relied on for years to provide us with relief of all of our many and diverse ailments with her strange, stinking, but wonderful concotions.

We got down to her house and were led into her tiny front office which doubled as her examination room. She sat me down on a chair by her desk and gave me a looksee, all the while chatting to my mom (who sat on the acupuncture table) in Chinese about me and my symptoms. After taking a look at a couple of my most prominent patches of grossness, she took my pulse from both of my arms. After this, she was up and bustling around her office/examination/acupunture room which quadrupled as her herbal storage room, weighing out herbs into a paper bag for me to take home and boil into a broth of which I was to drink a cup of, and then use the rest to have a bath in.

?!?!?!

Yeah, I understand. Who would boil up some stuff to drink, and then decide to have a bath in it too? (Wait...that's what we do with water...) Well, that's what I did. Now, imagine the smell that emanates into the halls from a Chinese herb store at the mall. Now multiply that by 100, add some essence of dog-poop, toe-fungus, and month-old gym socks and you'll have the smell that filled my kitchen that day from boiling this stuff. And yes, after faithfully gagging down a cup of this stuff, I hauled the rest to the bathroom from the most stinging, stinking sponge bath I'd ever had. If anything, I did to get my mom off my case before I took a dive back into my ointments and lotions.

The next day, I was so lightheaded at volleyball I had to sit out the game (**note: for those of you who don't know me, it is a BIG deal for me to SIT OUT of a game) and my skin seemed to have turned a shade darker, not to mention that my patchy eczema was STILL THERE!!! I was kinda disappointed all day since although I'd been kinda skeptical of that broth, it was still my last resort next to peeling off my own skin.

Today, however, LOOK!!! I can't say my skin is perfect, but I've barely scratched all day and I definitely can see a difference! I'm not so blotchy, and my forehead seems to be staying on today. I'm thrilled. Words cannot express my enthusiam. And it's all thanks to the herb lady. If there was any lesson I would want to take from this post, it would be that you should accept and ingest herbs offered to you by little old chinese ladies no matter how bad they stink because they're probably good for you. In short, say "yes" to herb(s).

Pfft. A Whole Lot of Pfft...

I hate being sick. I feel so useless when I'm sick. You'd think that when I'm sick and take a few days off from school, I'd have more time to do things. Pfft. Whatever. I've been home the last few days and I've accomplished next to nothing. I haven't even blogged lately. Pfft. Not that you've noticed or anything. Even my most avid reader hasn't complained about my lack of posts yet. Pfft. I guess she wasn't a very avid reader then. Pfft.

I want to go out tomorrow, but I'm sick. Señorita wants to go out, the Tri-Campus team wants to go out, V-jai wants to go out, and all I want to do is stay home and cuddle with Hun-Gee. Is that so wrong? I'm sorry people, I'm usually a party amnimal (pfft, no, that's not a spelling mistake) but this week I'm just beat. Just plain beat. That and I feel like I'm swallowing a pinecone everytime I have to swallow. Yuck. Did I mention that I hate being sick?

Hun-Gee wants to come home and pump me full of drugs to make my sickness go away. Pfft. I hate drugs. But I also hate being sick. What to do? This sick isn't so bad in that I'm not confined to my bed all day--I can actually get up and wander around without worrying about spontaneously keeling over. The worst thing about this sick is that it's made me break out in the worst eczema I've had in a LONG time. And it sucks that there's just nothing I can do about it. No amount of cream or ointment seems to be working, so I've given up and just tried to accept the fact that until I've gotten over this, my face will be hideous to all who happen to lay eyes upon me. Pfft. Stupid feverish rashes. Pfft. Oh yes, it's that bad.

Hun-Gee tried to reassure me over the phone that it couldn't possibly be that bad. Pfft. Wait till you come home FIRST before you say that, Hun-Gee, trust me. Here's proof: a girl from the tri-campus team was sitting next to me and happened to lay eyes on the hideousness that is my blotchy face. She's the nicest girl ever, and she only has the nicest things to say, but still, the fact that the following conversation ensued, has got to say something about how bad I look right now...
    Nicest Girl Ever - (noticing the jug of orange juice between my legs) Oh, you're sick too, aren't you?
    Me - (nods my hideously blotchy head)
    N.G.E. - Does that mean you can't take your anti-acne medication?
    Me - I don't take anti-acne medication. I don't have acne. That's just my eczema acting up really badly.
    N.G.E. - Oh. Well, it's hardly red at all. You can't notice it; it's just that I happen to stare closely at people in strange ways. (chuckles it off, and continues to be the N.G.E.)

Acne. That's what I look like I have right now, I'm so fricking blotchy. I should do an infomercial--the before and after pictures could be done without make-up or photo-touching, as long as they can wait a couple of days for me to get better before they take them! Pfft. I think I'll move on now...

Señorita might drop by tomorrow and go on a quick coffee break with me sometime before my first tri-campus game. That'll be good. She's a nurse, maybe she can fix me. Pfft. But then again, she may not be inclined to be seen with me in public after she gets here to pick me up and actually SEES me. Pfft. Never mind. That was a stupid thought--she's my sista...she HAS to love me, regardless of how I look. Yes chicka, you HAVE to...ring or not, that doesn't count for us!!! Mwahahahahahaha...okay. Back to my laundry...pfft.