Man, do I not have the luck with the itchies.

I thought poison ivy was pretty much the suckiest itch.

Ooooooooh, no.

No, poison ivy is not the suckiest itch.

I have come to know, intimately, the sucky itch of...

the almighty chigger-bite infestation.

I have no idea where I picked up these damned things. I look like I went outside naked and rolled around on a patch of lawn inundated with the little bastards. Which, to my best recollection, I haven't done. I think I'd remember a thing like that.

The bite on my chest is approximately the size of a quarter. Wearing clothing is almost intolerable, but unfortunately, I'm required to wear clothing at work. Last night I woke myself three times scratching the hell out of my torso. Yech.

The bite collection on my right thigh is impressive to behold. There's a bite just above my knee that feels like a marble under my skin. It's very useful for grossing M out. The one two inches above it is smaller, but still narstie. The two bites on my upper thigh have been oozing some sort of nastiness all day. The one on my bicep has reduced in size, so there must be a God after all. The stuff on the back of my other leg, well, I'm not sure if that's poison ivy or more bites; it's at this sort of in-between phase where it could be either. I'm certain the patch of red leather-skin on my right forearm is poison ivy, as it doesn't hurt like the bites do, and doesn't turn white when I forget and scratch. I can't turn my body enough to tell whether it's poison ivy or chigger bites on my left buttcheek.

I haven't really had chigger bites since I was a kid, and then, I don't ever remember having more than one or two at a time, so this is a new experience. Luckily, I've become psychologically toughened to the insidiousness of itch. I was talking to my mother on the phone the other day and she asked if I'd gotten poison ivy as a result of our kayaking experience on Monday (see previous post). I laughed. I haven't been poison ivy-free since April. Of course I got poison ivy from ramming my kayak up the side of a riverbank that was covered in the stuff. She asked how I could live like that. I told her I've gotten used to it. You know, get up in the morning and take care of the necessities, which now include applying intense heat to whatever parts of me happen to itch. I book it into the time I calculate it takes me to get from the bed to the car.

Still and all, this is pretty gross. Not only do these bites itch, they hurt. The slightest little touch is enough to make them start aching. It's very weird. And they ooze. I mean really. When poison ivy oozes, it does it slowly, so that if you stay on top of it, you don't actually stain your clothing. This bite crud is...well, I'll spare you the juicy details.

Summer is my favorite season. All the rest of the year, I feel like I'm waiting for something, and summer is when I actually live. It seems a shame that I can't transfer the discomfort that comes along with summer into the cold months, when I'm already uncomfortable. I'm a big believer in getting all your suffering done at one time. To draw it out like this, well, it's a cruel twist of fate.

At least I didn't have a limb blown off in a bus bombing, though. I'd prefer a real itch over a phantom one any day...