April 15th, 2006

breeden

(no subject)

For the...lord, I've lost count...sixth? seventh? time, I did not get into the Spectrum annual.

My angst is mitigated this year by the fact that I'm up for an Eisner, so screw 'em.


(This is a terribly ungracious sentiment, I know. Forgive me, world. My relationship with Spectrum is characterized more and more by irritation these days...)
breeden

(no subject)

It takes, I am told, twelve to fifteen days for the poison ivy reaction to run its course.

It's been seven.

I am maddeningly itchy, still. Intense concentration is the only thing that works--tecnu, hot showers, and calagel are increasingly less effective. Falling asleep is growing increasingly problematic. I itch direly. The only thing that consoles me at all is that some of the rashes don't itch any more--they're still visible, but the one on the side of my cheek and the underside of the boob are not itchy, merely ugly. This gives me hope that eventually the worst will fade.

Next week I need to make a doctor's appointment anyway, and maybe if I beg they'll give me a cortisone shot to go with the annual physical. 'Course, by that time, it'll be nearly the end. I hope.

I don't remember it being this bad when I was a kid. I wonder if I've forgotten, or if I am more virulently allergic now, or what. 'Cos this is just death, and if I was routinely shrugging this off at ten or twelve, I was a much tougher little sprog than I realized, and I'm pretty sure I was a first-class wimp.
breeden

The Mandrake Girl

When laying awake at night trying not to scratch, the ol' brain runs down some fairly familiar tracks. Eventually, I scribbled a few of 'em down. At some point, I should put illustrations together for this, like with the Little Creature story, but the drawing goes a lot slower than the writing...


At the edge of a dark and dreary forest, on the slope of a hill crowned by a dead oak tree, in earth churned by the writhing bodies of worms and slicked with the secret secretions of slugs, there was a hole, and in the hole was a mandrake root.
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