Testing the Skinny on The Skin Test

As anyone who has been keeping up with this blog can tell you, I'm allergic to…

Well, everything.


I'm allergic to grasses and trees and an assortment of foods…

No medications, as far as I know, though I am sensitive to laughing gas enough that it'll give me panic attacks.

Either way, I was on the road to having to live my life inside some horrible bubble, never to interact with another person again. 

To a certain extent, I actually did this to myself when I first came home again, but that was more due to a budding mental illness and less due to a physical ailment of any kind. 

So, a bazillion years ago, I was put on the drops.  Sublingual allergy drops work like the shots, in that it helps my body slowly learn to not be afraid of these substances.  Much like a ninja building up an immunity to poison by ingesting just a little bit over a long period of time, eventually, the body stops over reacting so much. 

That's all allergies are.

It's the body overreacting.

In this sense, it is perfect that I would have so many allergies.

To get this medication though, I had to take an allergy test. 

Not like this.

Not even a blood test. 

It's a skin test. 

I bring this up because I'm having the skin test done again to see if anything has changed.  Hopefully it has, and hopefully it's changed in a positive way.

Blood tests are useful because you can test for a lot of things all at once without any direct risk to the person being tested. The problem is that they aren't always particularly accurate.

The skin test is VERY accurate. 

You'd think that would make it worth it.

I bring this all up because not only have I had the test before, but I'm about to have it again in a couple of weeks.

I'm dreading this.

Obviously, I survived last time.  The problems are that
A. It's uncomfortable and I've become a flighty ninny who flips shit and thinks she's dying every time she even has a strange itch or needs to cough for a second. 
B. I'm worried about my tattoos because it makes little bumps which can spread onto the arms and sometimes they go to the back…
C. I don't really want to know if it's gotten worse. I want to somehow ONLY be told if it's better, and
D. I now associate the test with humiliation. 

This post will mostly be about that last one.

As jumpy and panic ridden as I may be now, when I was a kid, I just bottled everything.  I'd either be perfectly pleasant and happy, or I was a ball of silent misery.  Typically, that misery came about when I wasn't being left well enough alone. 

I didn't like attention, especially from strangers, and I didn't like the idea of ever smiling when I didn't have a reason to do so.  This led to a lot of people thinking I didn't have a sense of humor. I had one, just not when I felt embarrassed or like I was the butt of the joke. 

I'll tangent for a moment here because the other time this sort invasion of space was a problem was when I had a mat cut out of my hair.

Instead of just cutting the damn thing out themselves, my parents took me to a hair stylist, hoping he or she could take it apart and not have to cut out a chunk of hair.  It was underneath anyway, so I gave no shits.

Apparently my hair makes an amazing accidental dred.  It was perfect enough that the woman being paid to slice it off instead opted to call her friends and random patrons over to gaze upon the atrocity under my hair. 

Mind you, this was my own damn fault because my hair was unruly and I didn't like it being brushed.

Eventually, she cut it out of my hair, but not before I was in tears, hating the world, feeling hideous.  In retrospect, it was a compliment, but I just felt like a freak show at the time.

Similarly, there was the allergy test.

It was either tomato or wild North American grass that enveloped my shoulder in an itchy red mass of hate…

But what was worse was the thing on my hip.

"Dust" mutated into this horrible patch on my left hip which resembled…

A bunny.

I had a goddamn dust buddy on my butt.

Dust

Bunny

on my

BUTT.

And so the world had to be shown. 

The next half an hour was spent with nurses, doctors, patients, small children and everyone under the sun laughing at my rabbit-ass while I sat itchy, embarrassed, and once again hating the world. 

And now I'm going to have this test done again. 

I'm still just as prideful as I ever was as a child, but now I'm panicky and vocal. 

This might not end well. 

Instinct Vs. Logic: A Never Ending Battle

Before moving across the country, I couldn't handle cold very well.  I was more than pleased to be boiling hot instead.  Since getting back, any temperature extreme seems to suck.  

Our apartment is wired like a monkey just shat out the plans for the building and then left someone else to figure it out.  

In fact, that is probably what happened.

One outlet in the kitchen, one in the office, and one in the livingroom each have their own circuit breakers.  EVERYTHING ELSE shares ONE.  

This means that we can't have the air conditioning on  in more than two rooms at once, nor can we have any of them on while using the microwave or running the dishwasher, or else the electricity will go out.  

As a result, I am typically either melting:

or freezing: 

 

This has led me to feeling sort of panicky for no reason or just ill.  This is unfortunate because... Well...  
You know those lizards that shoot blood out of their eyes when threatened?  (Yeah, it's a thing.  Look it up.)

 I've always kind of been like one of those.  If I'm too stressed mentally or physically, I will get my period even if I just had it.  

Now, before this past year of fear and flipping out over foods and such, I never really noticed any extreme hormonal changes during my period.  This may have been because I had trained myself to care WAY too much about the welfare of others: 

While pretty much ignoring my own needs, no matter how uncomfortable I could get.  

 

Of course, something should be said for the fact that I often couldn't tell if I was really sick or just, you know, how I normally felt all the time anyway.  

 

This led to some problems in cases like The Birthday Bashing.  So, after I came home and started feeling everything, this meant that I was hyper aware of my hormonal state too.   

Rob figured the best way to see if I was legitimately upset or just hormonal was to have me look at cute things. 

Loaf animals are the best for this.  A loaf animal is when a rabbit or a cat winds up looking more like a guinea pig:  

 I actually have another story involving guinea pigs and meatloaf, but that can be for another post. 

 Cartoons also helped my hormonal state, as well as when I've been freaking out and going into existential panics over my career choice, what I'm going to school for, and what I really would rather be doing but don't think I could make a living doing. 

Enter our apartment-mate and My Little Ponies: 

 Sometimes he dresses like Deadpool. 


Rob does his best to fix ALL PROBLEMS EVER even before they are fully explained.  This is appreciated to a point.  The only issue here is that he is significantly more lovey dovey and romantic than I'm good at used to.  

 This hypersensitivity and panic has left me irritable and I worry about putting too much pressure on him.  He is possibly in denial, lying to make me feel better, or he honestly just doesn't see me as the flailing weirdo I've become over the past two years.  Either way, I need work and he seems to be more than happy to just stand there being overly peppy by my side.  

The over sensitive thing goes way beyond just emotional and sometimes physical into simple daily things.  My sleep has always been strange due to nightmares, but now the sun is a problem.

One option is to let the black out curtain drop enough that the sunbeam doesn't blind me in the morning: 

But, of course, there is always a catch.  Putting it down at night in order for it to be there in the morning means that I'm in pitch black darkness.  If I go to the bathroom in this, my brain assumes monsters will come climbing out of the mirrors to eat my feet.  

 Do other adults have cripplingly overactive imaginations or is this some other part of a larger disorder? 

*sigh*



Last on this list explains why there have been so many posts about sewing and dresses lately.  I've gotten excited because during my latest existential crisis, I remembered that I can sew.  Designing costumes came in handy in high school and has helped me in character design.  Sculpting with fabric to make stuffed creations has also been a treat.  Putting the two together to make wearable things that aren't just altered from previous articles of clothing is terrifying and exciting for me. 

Am I going to magically get a job as a fashion designer or seamstress?  Could that then launch my painting and cartooning career?

No.

Probably not.

However, I have a bazillion projects I'm working on, both personal and not, and some are drawing based while others involve sewing.

I'm keeping myself busy this Summer before school starts again in September much like some adults start obsessing over sports and fancy cars to avoid thinking about their soul sucking jobs.

For the record, what I'm going to school for will not be boring.  It is something I am genuinely interested in, even when I feel like an idiot.  I learn things every day and that is thrilling.  I have a chance to help others, and that is wonderful.

Unfortunately, my last year of classes before internship comes at a time when I am finally willing to think about myself and be selfish.  This is something other people get to do when they are younger, and I was always too afraid to go after what I really wanted.  Now I want to... And I feel like it's too late.  I'm already on another just as good path and I don't want to start all over again.

...I already have a BA in Art, so it wouldn't really be starting all over...
I worry more about time.

I worry about putting too much time and effort and energy into one side of this coin and having the odds always be on that side.  I worry that I'll lose the other or just stretch myself too thin.

Both take effort and energy and I'm not a terribly energetic person.

If I could only choose one, I'd choose Art...

...But that isn't logical.  It'll be harder to break into that.  Logically, I should do what I am doing and continue Art on the side, hoping that something will magically fall into my lap. 
...But that feels like I'm betraying someone important.

And that someone might actually be myself.

So, for now, it's cartoons, loaf animals, sewing like crazy, and trying to figure out what brought me here to begin with.

Nightmares? No. "Silly-weird...mares"

Dream I just had, plus me trying to "fix" it:

Three guys, 1, 2 and 3 in car.   1 is now Fred, 2 shall be Ned and 3 will be Ted.
Ned and Ted are in the back, and Fred is in the front, by the steering wheel.  Since the car isn't moving, we assume they're at the drive in or something.

Suddenly, Ned EATS Ted whole, and then slithers under car seat and bites Fred's foot. 

At this point, Ned and Fred come up again and they're eyeless, open mouthed zombies.

(Here is where I suddenly wasn't watching anymore.  I was now Fred, in the driver's seat.  Like, I saw that my hands were his cartoon hands and everything... so I see that only Ned is back there and I realize what's happened... and before he can zombie me, I start throwing my shoe at him and screaming and "hitting myself" until I wake up in real life...  Then, I make up the new ending in sort of half-asleep mode, to make myself feel better.  The next part is what my brain came up with:)

So Fred wakes up in the front seat of the car, looks back and sees just Ned sitting there behind him.  Fred responds by screaming and throwing a sneaker at Ned's head.  He keeps screaming, trying to wrestle out of the car, trying to grab bunnies from outside of the car, (I don't know why there were bunnies) to throw at Ned.  Fred fails at bunny throwing, dives out of the car and runs away screaming.

Ted gets up from where he was looking for something in the back seat, says "I found it!  ...Hey, where's Fred?"  Ned's like, "Dude.  He just started screaming and he threw a shoe at me."

Ted blinks.

Ned, "A shooooe."

Fred runs screaming off into the distance

Ted to Ned, "Wanna make out?"  They start making out furiously.

Fred gets to his girlfriend's house.  (She looks just like the three boys do, but she has eye lashes, hair and a dress shape) We'll call her "Ed...ina"?  Fred says, "You don't understand!" and tries to explain as she just blinks at him.

Caption on screen reads, "Three months later..."  Fred is wearing a chicken suit.

The end. 

I was already sick to my stomach, so I guess I already had the icky feeling I tend to have after a nightmare...
So my brain just went "OH!  I know what to do when the body feels like this!  Do something weird and scary!"

Aaaaaaaaand now I have the old Winnie the Pooh song stuck in my damn head.  This happens when I'm ill.  My body says, "How can I make this worse?  I know!  I'll make her go from one bit of song to the next, at random, whilst she vomits!  Joy!"

Me vs. Winter

A word on Winter

First off, I'm so used to being sick during the cold Winter months that the moment it snows, I curl up in a thousand blankets in front of the computer or TV and start eating ridiculous foods or just utter crap or just so much chocolate that I shit the sick out.  

So, as I write this, you can go ahead and picture that.

I've never been great at retaining heat.  
It just does not want to happen with my body.

When I was a kid, I didn't do much playing in the snow.  

We were forced to go outside for recess and I was forced to wear snow pants, because... 
I was a child and therefore logically I would be playing in the snow. 

This is not what I did.  

Snow is cold and wet and all things that make me uncomfortable, so I avoided snow in much the same way that I avoid all things that make me uncomfortable when I have no reason to be near them.

...I avoid it like I would avoid a dirty hippy explaining the joys of eating things I'm allergic to.

Also, my Christian friends were hearing things like "If you're a good boy/girl, Santa will bring you gifts", which they interpreted as "my little Jew-friend does not receive gifts from Santa, which means she must be a bad person."  

Then, they decided to tell me this, in great detail.  

It was like a junior version of Jehovah's Witnesses.  
"Have you accepted Santa into your life yet?  No??  Then you will NOT be receiving joy or presents."

I went to my parents and asked them what the Hell this Christmas shit was all about and why it meant that my eight nights of Hannukah didn't count as getting presents.  

My parents responded with simply, "Oh!  It's the celebration of the birth of Jesus Christ!"  
And I said, "OH!...  What?" 

I went on to assume that Jesus was a fat man who broke into people's houses in the dead of night to plant trees in their living-rooms as some sort of practical joke against all of nature and all that is sacred within the safety of one's home.  

Then there was something about nailing socks to fireplaces.  

This cued a Nightmare Before Christmas moment of "does it still have a foot???"  

This is what I picture when I think of Santa:

He knows when you're asleep...


Somewhere along the line, it was explained to me that most of the traditions involved didn't really have anything to do with the religious aspects of Christmas at all.  

They were mostly pagan traditions and other religious things from completely different areas of the world, all brought together in the spirit of joy and giving and love... 
...and forcing people to practice Christianity. 

Right.

SO, eventually I let that slide and decided that most of the population had no idea what they are celebrating and that was fine because it makes them happy.  

I learned to ignore the "Jews can't make snowmen" and "Jews can't look at the lights"... but was eventually made angry once again when someone tried to "explain" Hannukah. 

(By the by, Hannukah is spelled a thousand different ways because it's HEBREW, so please don't tell me I'm spelling it incorrectly.  The moment it's spelled with English letters, it's fucking wrong.)  

I was told that it was the celebration of the miracle of the oil lasting for eight days. 

...

What?

This is complete bullshit.

It's the celebration of the Macabees kicking ass.  

It was like 300 only they actually won.  

It was bloody and violent and about freedom.  

The end.  

Honestly, what's up with trying to lie to our children?  
Either way, fine. 

The new story is more kid-friendly I 'spose.

I'm still kinda stuck on how Jesus coming back from the dead has much to do with giant Harvey/Frank-like rabbits laying chocolate eggs. 

Really, if you're going to steal holiday ideas, at least force them to make sense.  
Make up a story.  
This is all I ask. 

How about... In order to deal with all of the sins for which he had just died, his old form was shed to reveal that of a giant rabbit-man.  

This way, he could sneak out with ease and deliver joy and love in handy egg-shaped carrying cases!

I rant about this now, because come Spring time, I won't be so cold and filled with hate. 

Cold = hate.

This year, I actually had a pretty good Christmas.  

We went to my boyfriend's parent's house.  

I was allowed to help decorate the tree.  

EDIT: "Allowed" was a good term to use here.  It turned out that the family involved was weirdly antisemitic and enjoyed watching me decorate the tree ALONE while mocking me.  

Except for the whole "oh my god I'm going to drop this and it's going to shatter and I'm going to go to some kind of Jew-Hell for breaking this sacred Jesus-tree decoration" part, it was very exciting and a lot of fun for me.  

The music didn't even get to me.

For those who don't know, I have a thing against most Christmas music only because of Hallmark.  

I worked there for a few months.  

It was fun work, but they found out that I don't celebrate Christmas.  

This was terrible.  

As a result, I didn't really know what I was doing, yet I was chosen to work alone ALL CHRISTMAS.  

To make matters worse, I was not allowed to change the music.  

It was automatic and I had no means of turning it off, besides maybe smashing the damn thing to bits... which I thought about. 

This comic came from that:
Deddrie: Hellmark

In case the site is down, here is that comic: 

 
At one point, a creepy man put a twenty dollar bill into my pocket as a tip for wrapping a gift for his wife... who was standing right there.  

I wanted to cry.  

Not only was it somewhat illegal for me to accept it, (so I tried not to and failed) but I have never been so very upset over receiving $20 before.

Also, I may or may not be allergic to pine. 

I'm not sure.  

I get itchy and eye-drippy around them, but it may just be Hallmark flashbacks getting to me.

Happy holidays everyone!