I’m covered in spots. Not just tiny red flecks either. This is one, major rash. There is more red skin than white, though strictly I am a teeny weeny bit tanned. But seriously. The situation is getting out of control.
Of course, there is an easy way out of this. A simple injection to my thigh and it’s instantly absorbed into the blood stream and eradicates the rash and saves me from scratching my skin off. But of course, knowing me, my answer (before I gave it) was no. Never. Not ever. Capeche?
So here I am, resisting the urge to scratch my leg because the blanket is touching it, or to scratch my chest because my shirt is touching it. You know? While I’m at it, let me ask Ivy something.
Remember when I told Jun that scratching the mosquitoe bite would only spread the acid around and make it bigger later? You told me you didn’t know what I was asking him. Well tell Jun that it’s easier not to scratch a mosquitoe bite than trying not to scratch after brushing against something drives you mad with the desire to attack yourself with your nails.
I’ve also refused my Vitamin B injection, and as a result am slightly more downtrodden. Loss of appetite and not as perky, apparently. Just to prove my mother wrong, and despite the fact I’d eaten half an hour ago, I wolfed down that stupid rice and complained about starving anyway. And then I bolted before she could give me any more.
I don’t need injections! I’m perfectly fine damnit! Even if I am a tad bit itchy. Oh no, I’m going to die, and I know it. Save yourselves, I’m contagious!