I am thoroughly aware that bitchy tends to be my normal.
And that I have nearly-albino skin that seems to call out to mosquitoes, "Free all-you-can-eat prime rib dinner! Come and GET IT!!!"
I grew up in New Jersey where mosquitoes are the state bird. I've known about my caviar-to-mosquitoes state of being my whole life.
After three months of burn-bans and "extreme drought conditions", the weather guy's words, not mine, that yielded ground so dried out that I LITERALLY have six-inch wide gaps in the ground in my yard, gaps wide enough to suck up a two-year old's leg to the knee, which hasn't happened yet, but is a possibility every time we walk to the car, I guess I wasn't prepared for what has happened over the last couple of weeks as the rains decided that we were once again worthy to experience their wetness.
As in, it rains buckets during the day, awakening with great fervor, mosquito larvae that has lain dormant all summer... and possibly since the Jurassic period, I can't be sure.
What I can be sure of, is that I literally had to get out a fly swatter the other night to take one of these dinosaur-sized suckers out. For Real. The body was as long as my pinky nail.
Let me say that again for the cheap seats.
The body was as long as my pinky nail.
Hubby tried to tell me
And now it's rained so much that the trailer has shifted... and the back door needs the strike plate readjusted so it will latch when you close it, so it was pretty much hanging there free-range yesterday as hubby and the roommate went in and out letting in, you guessed it, a shit-load of mosquitoes. Mosquitoes that decided for some unknown reason, that my bedroom was the newest nightclub in town.
I need a transfusion.
And a whole lotta sleep that I won't get because my hands were last night's buffet, and I was not-so-blissfully nudged awake by needing to scratch HOLES into my hands because I have mosquito bites on every square inch of my hands, and yes, almost exclusively my hands. Did I mention they feasted on my hands?
One on each forearm; 97,787,789,376 bites on each hand.
So, I'm up and typing this, in part to get my mind off of my itching hands and hoping, like 2 billion rosaries hoping, that Benadryl will have some SOME shred of an effect and also, because the striking of the keys helps to scratch the bites on the tips of my fingers.
This also may explain to you, my reader why there are so many line breaks in this post... They are scratch-vigorously breaks.
The only benefit to this torture is that I've lost enough blood to finally complete my home-transfusion and switch my blood type over to coffee, French roast thank you, none of that Colombian shit...
Which I will be doing by IV, because you can't hold a coffee mug when your hands are submerged in calamine lotion.