Wednesday, September 3, 2014


Two weekends ago, we were out doing yard work.  It was a spur of the moment thing and I was wearing Birkenstocks.

That was a large mistake.

I'm thirty-four.  It's taken thirty-four years for me to have a run-in with poison ivy.  There's a reason for that.  Brother is intensely reactive to the stuff.  As in he can be several yards away from the stuff and still get a rash.

I was much, much closer.  All up and down the backs of my legs, feet to ass, is covered.  And on top of that, said rash is now infected.

The clinic has put me on prednisone and cephalexin.  I've spent the day rewashing all the bedding for the third time in a week.

And I have no brain power for The Shawl.  The Shawl that is, right now, six foot or so long unblocked.  The Shawl that needs to be done in a month so I can figure out how and where to block it in time for my friend's wedding.  That Shawl.

That's a twelve inch ruler.  Also, ignore the rings.  They aren't staying.

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