Something out there really has it out for me today, and you know what? I might deserve it -- but it's not gonna win... cause I shaved

So last night I didn't sleep because I had a horrible allergic reaction that made me look like I had been dipped in acid and left me with a strong desire to have my skin shaved off.

But I dealt, I went to the doctor -- got some pills and a shot in my ass. Around noon I feel my apparently acid-dipped body hit the bed and it hit hard. I woke up two hours later and my skin was back to normal. Holy shit modern technology has finally developed the miracle shot. God bless 'em.

So I call my mom so she won't be so worried about me and find out that she got dad to give me money for the doctor. Awesome! However this has caused a problem. Dad wants to know why Karen hates him so much. I needed money to go to the doctor cause I just didn't have any. Not that I couldn't spare any, but I literally just didn't have it. That's not the reason I called mom when I broke out, but obviously eventually when I run out of groceries it's going to be her I call so her okay is very important. And why would I call dad? WHY? Dad doesn't even give me 5 dollars to put gas in my car on occasion. He won't talk to me, doesn't care to call me. Why the fuck would I call him?

But mom called him cause she's low on money and me and her have been trying to figure out a way to try and get dad to somehow contribute something to help me pay for my two hundred and sixty dollar a month out-of-pocket prescription. So when she went to get the money and put it in my checking account, she got to be cursed at and yelled at for a nice long time. I feel HORRIBLE. She has nothing to do with this -- it's between me and dad, and she gets yelled at about me all the time. I just feel like a dog for it. Fuck me and the welts all over my body -- it's all about dad you know.

So of course, I had to call dad to thank him for the money. I tried to talk to him -- you know like have a conversation -- but he wasn't having it. He was just so angry that I hadn't asked him for money. I've asked him for money before and he hasn't given it to me. He knows I need money -- I told him about the Effexor prescription just the other day. And he knows that my car needs to be fixed so that the axle won't decide to break when I'm driving down the interstate.

Ok, enough of the family aspect.

So I was just so relieved to look better. I was still itchy (especially when I went out in the heat) but I did some laundry and even cooked a nice meal (thats twice this week -- who am I turning into?) Then... tonight the bumps are returning. New ones are literally popping up every time I look. And the itch is getting worse. Ugh. Figures.

So the doctor said the shot should totally fix it and if it didn't to get this prescription for some pills filled. So I decide to go get them filled. Walk out to my car... ANOTHER PARKING FINE. What's it for this time? Backing into a parking space (the oh-so-valuable rare parking space that I knew I would lose by going to Walgreens). I've lived here two years and I've been backing into parking spaces for a lot of that. Everyone does. I look around the parking-lot... plenty of cars parked backwards. Who gets the ticket? YEP.

So I go to Walgreens and wait for my prescription, but I'm getting super sick the longer I stay out. Have you ever seen Session 9 (movie)? No? Well you know the "modern" lobotomies where they just stuck a rod into your eye sockets and twisted it around to mush up your frontal lobe -- I felt like that. And there was a flickering street light and when I saw it, I swear to god it felt like someone punched me. Then when I got home I totally walked straight into a wall. No, folks, Karen is no longer approved to drive.

The prescription only cost 5 bucks though. THATS WHAT I'M TALKING ABOUT!

So I'm home. And the red bumps are totally getting worse. Uh oh. They aren't coming back with a vengeance it's more of a head-nod and a "wazzz up." So I take my Effexor and the shiny new 60 MG of Prednisone. Oh, I don't know if you call what I have a "stomach" or a "pouch" but it is just as angry at me as my skin appears to be. I'm sure I'll get an ulcer or some internal bleeding in reply -- because my body hates me.

So hey, I need a shower. Why do I need a shower? Well, if I end up going to the ER tonight, I'm going to be shaved and have clean hair. Cause you know when I was in that car wreck last year and they were giving me a MRI or Cat-Scan or whatever it was and putting that lead vest on my broken rib and I'm looking at the tiny hole they're about to stick me in and wondering if I can fit while the technician debates on getting some wire cutters to take out my closed-loop earrings -- the only thing I was thinking was Damn, I should have shaved my legs. I was going to last night -- why didn't I? I haven't even had a shower this morning. I'm such an idiot -- I can't believe I didn't shave my legs.

So you know what -- I WIN. Cause however it ends up, I shaved my legs and I'm clean. TAKE THAT, BIOTCH!


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