Self-Medicating

Today started off not only as gray and drizzly, but also as one of those days that foretold of any number of things that were going to get my goat. It appeared to be fairly brimming with annoyances. Firstly, I seem to have developed some sort of rash on my upper left arm. I thought it was a sunburn back when I first spotted it well over a week ago and attributed the whole matter to sun sensitivity. That can happen with antibiotics... I took care to keep it well out of the sun. By the time I got to the doctor's on Wednesday, though, it was irritating enough to make me want to mention it.

Too bad I forgot all about it in our rousing discussion of what is the best Greek pastry.

This morning, Mr. Rash was itchy and sensitive to the touch. I quickly hastened to my local purveyor of pharmaceuticals for some of that sweet, sweet hydro-cortisone. That should hold me until I can get the school nurse to look at it.

Issue number two, my seasonal allergies, were rearing their ugly heads fairly forcefully by the time I got there, though. This made my tolerance for Ms. High Hair behind the counter somewhat low. Her decision to wander off to complain to a co-worker about "Susie" and her habit of leaving unsold cigarette packs atop the counters was ill-timed, as far as this Sheep was concerned as I was waiting to purchase my rash relief and couldn't have cared less about Suzie's poor housekeeping habits. Ms. High Hair went into great detail with regard to her complaints despite the fact that there were a number of us waiting to purchase life saving medications and breath mints.

She finally wrapped up her diatribe and returned to the cash register, but not before making her final statement on the subject of her nemesis: "I don't matter what you say to her...she just don't care!"

Irony at the drug store. Too bad I wasn't in the mood to appreciate that.

The next stop was the post office. The plan was to arrive at 9:00 and be one of the first in line to post my postals. And, thanks to Ms. High Hair and her delaying tactics, I was there at exactly 9:00. Too bad the post office is under its own set of rules with regard to punctuality and customer service. They view the whole operation as somewhat flexible...it's not like they don't actually police themselves, really. Ten after nine is just as good as nine and if you don't like it you can write a letter. Just don't try to mail it at nine o'clock.

Then there was the cute little local gal who opted to use the exit lane to scoot ahead of me in line once things opened up and, being of the cute variety, got away with it. I, on the other hand, followed the rules and was not cute, having rolled out of bed, discovered my rash, been struck down by allergies and opted to not wash my hair so I could get these errands done. We, the rashy and unwashed do not get to cut in line. We have to follow the rules and hope that the Beautiful People cut us some slack.

I was rather fired up by the time I got to the counter. But, dang it all to heck, they are so nice at my post office that I just can't hold a grudge. I'm not being sarcastic here...they are all delightful to a fault. You can't stay mad. No matter what happens, you leave happy. It's only later that you remember the slights you suffered and by then it's too late. Besides, if you go back they may have decided to close early and you'll just have to wait for someone of the postal variety to wander back in to hear your complaint.

Yup...the universe was doing its very best to ruin my weekend. A Sheep has a choice at that point: lie down and take it or fight back. I chose the latter, girded my loins, took a hefty slug of decongestant and set to making things better. My weapons of choice were all of the fiber variety:

*I plied the teeny bit of rambouillet left on the bobbins, soaked it and blocked it.

*I went about getting the lamb/silk blend back on the wheel in order that I might go back to spinning that lovely yarn.

*I began spindle spinning some of the shetland that I dyed on Wednesday and spent a good portion of the afternoon declaring my love for all things shetland. There will be many, many rambling posts on the subject of my love for this fiber in the months to come, so you may want to prepare yourself for that.

*I knit on a little cottony something that may or may not remain on the needles...time will tell. But it is sort of pretty and entertained me for today, at any rate.

*I fired up the crock pot and tossed in two ounces of rambouillet top with a little caramel colored dye and am thinking that what emerges is going to be something rather yummy.

(I also had to do a wee bit of school-type work in between all this stuff, but I spaced it out enough so that it didn't take away from my happy-making. No need to discuss this little matter. It was the bitter pill that came with the sweet)

All that fiber therapy did wonders for Sheepie's outlook on the day. By the time The Big, Fluffy Kitty and I settled in for our little afternoon nap, there was a great deal more smiling happening. That could have been the allergy medication talking...but I like to think it was my self-prescribed day of knitting and spinning.

The Smaller, Less Fluffy Kitty (who is by far the more articulate of the household) has proposed writing a paper for The American Journal Of Medicine on the whole phenomenon. I'll let you know how that works out.

SA