You should see my hair. On the other hand, maybe you shouldn't. Oh, and I rolled out of bed at 9:32 a.m. Plus, Dave's making pancakes. All sure signs that we're on vacation.
Yesterday I made a run into town to pick up some poison ivy stuff. Sam had a rash on top of both his feet and there is tons of that noxious weed around here. I google-imaged poison ivy to see if I could see my son's rash – big mistake, unless photos of humongous blisters, swollen eyeballs and scarlet red asses turn your crank. What I didn't see was any little red rashes a la Sam but I decided to get the treatment just in case.
This is what you do: wash the "affected area (!)" with soap and warm water (that always kills me, the "affected area." Of course you wash the affected area - do you think you wash your hair? Your arse? Sheesh, how dumb are we people-who-write-instructions-on-the-back-of-medicine-bottles?); follow that with a wash of rubbing alcohol; apply a hydrocortisone cream; then take a Benadryl or a Reactine. And don't itch it, unless you want an infection. Sam seems better today. "It's still there," he says, "but it's getting better."
I'm reading Stephen King's On Writing. What a fabulous book for a writer. I'm enjoying it even more than a novel.
I read it years ago, when I was only thinking about writing, and I thought it was merely ok. Now that I'm in the midst of a project, it is invaluable. Inspirational. I want to talk more about it but Dave has just put a pancake in front of me so I must go.