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Peter, Peter, Peter, peterpeterpeterpeter…

May 28, 2009

Otherwise known as “petering out.” That is what I have been doing all day.

Today started out pretty well. I woke up on time. I got to work early. I got some stuff done. My shoes didn’t pinch. It was good.

Then I went to a meeting and for some odd reason, my throat started to close up, as if I had extreme stage fright, while I was trying to talk about something. Thankfully Shea stepped in and finished explaining it for me, as I sat there with a puzzled look on my face and tried to breathe normally.

On the way down the stairs, I was commenting on this strange reaction, and I also mentioned that “at least my shoes are comfortable.”

Pretty soon, it was time for my allergy testing appointment. 80 teeny-tiny little inflamed scratches all up and down my arms. No, it’s not heroin, it’s antigens. Turns out I am VERY allergic to dust/dust mites (no surprise there), and mildly allergic to cats, a grass I’ve never heard of, some molds, and beef. Yes, beef. I knew there was a reason I don’t eat beef. Do any of these explain my ear problems? Probably not.

So I get back to work and I’m starving. I eat my really delicious salad of cucumber, tomato and avocado. Shea and I walk over to the drugstore to look at hair dye. I feel very strange. My arms itch like crazy. And then I notice: my shoes. They are not so comfortable.

In fact, they are pinching like crazy. By the time we got back to the office, I had two blisters and it felt like dental floss had been wrapped tightly around my toes. Also, my anxiety had shot up and I was getting jumpy-tummy.

WTF? Seriously.

The rest of the afternoon was spent craving every single thing I could not eat on my detox diet (including: american cheese — which I never eat, where did that come from?; peanut M&Ms; cinnamon toast; and olives — which I do eat, and which actually I think are allowed. I should have some) and beating myself up. I didn’t mean to, but I seemed to have lost all coordination. I banged my arm on a filing cabinet. Banged my head on my desk while plugging something in. And I already mentioned my feet. Which by now were ensconced in really ugly slippers that I keep at work for instances just like this.

Also, my neck and shoulders were tight and incredibly sore. Like I’d been lugging around sackfuls of bricks.

I have no idea where the anxiety or all these symptoms came from. Huge influx of histamines? Antigen poison?

All I know is that today was not the best day on record, for reasons completely unknown to me. On the surface, seemed okay. However, it felt like dragging myself through a pit of thumbtacks. Or something.

All this is to say: I think I need to go to bed earlier. Damn you, Vonnegut. I can’t stop reading you.

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