Hating on Hives

So I’ve been sick for awhile.  Nothing serious, just stuck in bed, staring at the ceiling, wondering why me.  Why am I the one who gets a case of hives so bad that her face swells uplike a botched plastic surgery operation?  Whose skin is speckled with silver dollar sized welts that look as if she’s been dumb enough to tangle with a swarm of African Honey Bees? 

Yes, those are my lips.

And if that wasn’t bad enough, I’ve got you-know-what sickness so I’m throwing up and wetting my pants every 10 seconds.  Like Marisa Tomei once said, “You don’t appreciate bladder control until it’s gone.”

Now I’m not complaining (okay, I am), but seriously, making lemonade after 3+ months of this is hard.  Sam says to look on the bright side: I don’t have cancer.  My family hasn’t died in a tragic accident involving giants rats and a caved-in sewer line.  No reports of tsunamis are coming my way.  And I don’t eat garbage from public trashcans or take heroin for breakfast.  Yeah.  Okay.  I see his point.  But I also am not Petra Ecclestone who just bought the Spelling mansion for 85 million dollars at 22 years old.

So I’m looking for somewhere in the middle.  I’ll take living in my well, not-85-million-dollar-mansion if these darn hives would just go away.  I’d like to go out in public again!


Leave a comment

Filed under Uncategorized

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s