I've been all over the Web tonight, and I can't find a damn thing to write about. Tired of myself and my wandering mind, tired of this doomsday-feeling-duct-tape-wrapped mood I'm in. Tired of houses and yards and people who try so hard to be what they're not, so hard in fact that they become what they are, and that's way worse.
I'm at a standstill.
No forward, no back. Just here, where nothing seems to be backlit.
No glow, no light, no lemon-fresh scent.
sheesh.
The highlight of my day was stopping at the new dollar store with Jenna, where I dropped a quick $75 on what, I'm not sure. A manic minute where it felt good to be alive and spending. Welcome to Atlanta. Buy now, pay never.
I have this itchy rash thing above one eye lid, and seem to have developed a patch of eczema on the palm of my right hand, which sits, for I'd say 9 hours of every day, on my laptop keypad. And I guess I'm paying the price. I had eczema so bad as a child that they had to put tube socks on my hands and arms when I slept. Inside my elbows and the inside of my knees were the worst. I itched myself into a bloody pulpish mess every winter until I was through 7th grade.
The treatment of choice back then was zinc oxide, which did absolutely nothing but make the rash itch more. By the time I was in eighth grade, real dermatologists were coming out with real ointment for eczema and other skin conditions. That, and a lot of sunshine in the summer, somehow zapped it out of my system somehow (or maybe puberty had something to do with it), and I haven't had a problem since. Until now.
That ought to say something about my stress level.
Breaking out. Sometimes breaking out is just that: the stress is breaking out of your body through your skin.
It's time to sleep. I'm making no sense. This is what I mean--my voice is on the other side of the room and I just can't reach it from here.
g'night.
