itchy itchy itchy

You may have guessed, there is some itching going on here.  The itchiness that disturbs me most is my c-section scar that I can promise you, is as old as my youngest child.  Which in scar years, is quite old.  I’m all antihistimined up and still, itchy itchy.

Also realized in the middle of a conversation with someone I barely know that I am having migraines.   The pertinent part of my realization being with someone I barely know is that I believe I interrupted her, mid-sentence, and said “Oh.  I’m having migraines.”   When your right visual field goes foggy in the periphery, you get distracted and announce things like that to people who wouldn’t necessarily want to hear it.   The other time it happened this week, I was in the shower, and there was no one to tell.  Scott knows for sure that my head hurts, because I’d not pass up an opportunity for a “poor baby” from the husband.   Plus, I feel like sitting still is best in those moments.

And there are a couple of other things going on that are outside of my plans.  Like outrageous amounts of sneezing and tissue usage.  Dizziness where I almost fall over and sometimes, do fall over. That’s all I’m going to share.  Because like the near stranger who heard my migraine announcement, you may not want to know.

You may not want to know that my face has become so sensitive that I almost can’t stand to have my bangs/fringe down.  Pick your favorite/favourite word.  It’s just bizarre.

In other news of itchiness, I’ve realized that my itching desire for friends here has been/is being scratched to my satisfaction.  I would’ve died the loneliest social death ever if not for my friend Al (very much a girl, I assure you).  Alright, I’m exaggerating a bit on the death part and on the loneliest part (I’m entitled as I’m uncomfortable), but the truth is that I have the most wonderful, late night chatting, cinema-going, how-about-this-outfit shopping, short-notice walk-going, Christmas present wrapping . . . . friend.  I forgot chocolate eating/sipping, Greys Anatomy watching, cute-link-sending, cake-baking, personal entertainment recommending . . . . it could go on.  And I love, love, love that.  I love that we skype chat from less than 200 yards away.   And that I get texts from Rome and Portugal and France . . . from wherever she happens to be.  The more I think about it all, the more grateful I am.   It really is good to sit and think and be thankful about the itches that have been delightfully scratched.

I also find it delightful that I have two newer friends with the exact same first name.  They are each beautiful gifts to me as well, one with whom I recently engaged (indulged??) in cake therapy at Avoca and had great chats and the other with whom I split a piece of apple pie with by the outdoor fire at a party.  This would be pie that should be eaten with a fork but we used fingers, which dissolved into laughter and then more laughter after I tried to share my napkin which would not tear properly but only shred.   I’ve been itching to laugh like that.  And I did.

Some itches are scratched in due time.  If the ache of the itch had been numbed in any way, the relief would not be as sweet.