There are only presents because of last-minute-guilt, remote shopping, and insane wrapping at midnight.
Do Rappers have this problem when they write songs? I wonder.
Miso bossy and Miso Snoop!
We do not travel to see the lights.
Instead I huddle at home, being a giant lump of coal with a couch instead of a stocking.
Because my tongue hurts. All the time.
My tongue has hurt for over three months now.
I keep eliminating things:
Thinking I had OAS, I stopped eating foods that hurt me. (Oral Allergy Syndome–I thought tomatoes hated me.)
I change a mouth guard, thinking it might have latex.
I stop two new medications–one of which does have associated neuropathy of the tongue as a rare side effect–it’s week three now and I am thinking that isn’t the problem.
Last night, I tried taping my mouth shut only to bite myself in my sleep. (Okay, those of you laughing your asses off, I know what you are thinking, just stop.)
I still have a tongue that feels burned most of the time. I’ve been eating my weight in yogurt–which is sort of a cyclical nightmare. The more I eat, the more I bite myself and hurt my face two ways.
I am now blaming the CPAP. It’s the only thing I haven’t stopped doing. Basically, I have dry mouth from too much air. AIR IS HURTING ME. That has to be the definition of getting old.
My friend is helping me to try and change settings, but if we can’t fix why my tongue feels like a burnt offering, I don’t know what I am going to do.
So, for those of you who have wondered at my absence–and more particularly lack of holiday cheer–there are reasons beyond the usual.
“I’m just a crabby, crabby girl in a blistered-tongue world. Tryin’ to find a reason to celebrate the season!”
I might need to write a rap about that…all I need is a white-girl rapper name. Make your suggestions. I could use a laugh.
P.S. At one point, I had thrush. Let’s not mention the two weeks of drinking Nystatin oral fungal medication–the same ingredient to treat athlete’s foot. Everything tasted like tinfoil and it felt like my tongue was an insert from an old sneaker. Let’s just agree this never happened, shall we? Kind of my approach the 2025 in general–denial and a whole lot of useless salves to cover the wounds and hoping it will all just go away on its own.
BedBug False Alarm ($175), real Scabies Fiasco. (Untold dollars.) Still scarred by that experience. Haunted by phantom itching everywhere.
September – October – Deck Detailing (at least $500) Impulse to stain a naked fence leads to, manic purchases and lots and lots of kneeling to sand wood already in place. (Not recommended.) Then comes the staining!
Cold weather is coming, so I hire two neighbor girls to help me out. They are pre-teenagers on the cusp of being human. They are enthusiastic though, like overeager puppies throwing themselves at a basket of rubber balls–things fly everywhere.
Knotty Knotty Pine–While they paint, I run to Home Depot for a variety of supplies – one of which requires me carefully putting a plank of wood in my Toyota Prius V. (The V is important. If I hadn’t owned a V, I wouldn’t have tried this. And, likely have saved myself money and hassle.) There had been a bad board–with a big knot that caused the wood to split mid-way along the rail of our ramp.
I get to the Depot. They are super busy. I decide to just go grab a board, get it cut and get back home. I check out and the cashier hears about my great adventure in deck maintenance. Looks at my board, looks at me and says,
Clerk: “You know this isn’t deck planking, right?“
Me: *Blink Blink Blink* “No. I did not know there was such a thing as deck planking.”[Despite the fact that is exactly what was written on the note a helpful clerk had written up for me.]
I decide, screw it and buy it anyway. How bad could it be if it was a little thicker?
Banging Wood in the Parking Lot: Putting things in my trunk, the cart with the board starts wheeling away. A good Samaritan grabs the cart, then the board, and shoves it in my car and slams my trunk. He waves and walks away having done his good deed for the day.
I walk to the front of the car and see this:
Thicker Wood is Bad! I end up paying for it, and losing a Saturday going to Safelite Auto Glass–being terrified by a giant attack spider–and getting the price of my window down to $436.17.
Anyhow, the day of the window fiasco, I schlump back to my house, cursing my fate to discover…
The girls are staining my deck steps instead of the railing…because they accidentally dumped a pan they were filling with expensive stain down said steps.
*Sigh*
I pay them for three days of labor, but then call it ‘good enough’ because I have to save money because a tree in my yard suddenly looks very under-the-weather. Limbs are turning black and dropping off.
I call the city to ask for help. Turns out, despite the fact that the same city parked in front of my house for about 3 months during the hottest part of the summer and dug up the road right next to this tree, even digging into my property to cap an old water main, their arborist claims my tree was already sick and dying before that happened.
I have my own arborists who agree–digging up the roots definitely could effect the tree. But, I am too tired to fight city hall. I take the lowest bid from Top Down Tree Service so that the tree can come down before the winds can bring it down.
Felled Wood: $1184. Not dropping a tree on a person’s head? Priceless!
Catastrophe almost averted: I am just about to relax when…I come home to find my house filling with gas–the person watching my son is unable to smell death coming.
DTE is called, a very competent woman comes and checks my home. I shiver outside with my son as he has snit fits about the door being open. The next day we call a plumber to replace a Gas Cock (yes, my dryer is a boy!) and we are safe once more.
By November, I am twitching and looking at all my appliances sideways. I’m afraid to go anywhere. (Hold that thought.)
I am feeling the cold winds of winter blowing…through the cracks in my front door. I go to Home Depot and a clerk, who shall not be named, suggests these “EASY TO INSTALL” weather stripping.
Me: “What if there are nails in the way?”
Clerk: “Oh, I’m sure there won’t be–it won’t be a problem.”
SPOILER: It was a problem
Turns out there wasn’t a strip of trim holding the decades old weather stripping in place. Nope, it was the entire door jam and very sunk-in nails doing the job.
SIDEBAR: Perhaps certain people shouldn’t own crowbars? Maybe licensing should be required?
Thankfully, there is an area service provider I call in emergencies that I have caused.
It is not called HELP ME I SCREWED UP AGAIN but it should be! Home Repair Services of Kent County takes my call. This week, I get a call early Monday morning.
WARNING–SERIOUSLY LEWD PARAPHRASING FOLLOWS
Mark: “Hello. I have a few minutes this morning to check out your issues.”
Me: “Oh, it’s gonna take a lot longer than that to fix all my issues.”
Mark: “I’ll take a look and then come back later. How does that sound?”
Me: “Come any time you like.”
After assessing the damage, Mark shows up later that day like a superhero and fixes my door!
Afterwards, I thank him profusely and ask tentatively:
NOT PARAPHRASING AT ALL
Me: “So how much is this gonna cost me?“
Mark: “Twenty-five.“
Me: “Twenty-five hundred?“
Mark: “No. Twenty-five dollars.“
Me: “I love you.”
I slip Mark a $5.00 tip to forget I said that.
I am deliriously happy. I’m in debt up to my eyeballs, and getting just a slap on the wrist feels like redemption. Then I spot a thing I have been avoiding seeing out of the corner of my eye while driving in the parking lot of my super grocery store chain.
Me: “No NO NONONONONO!”
After conversations with my car insurance and Safe-Lite Glass Replacement they have the same response to warranty/coverage:
“Not It!”
**SIGH**
I decide to forgo fixing the window for now. We’ll see how long it lasts through the winter.
As I contemplate the bleak holidays ahead, I consider canceling my son’s camp weekend in January 2026.
And that’s when the email arrives from the camp Indian Trails, saying.
“Your son has been awarded a scholarship for the balance of your camper’s weekend!”
So here is Lesson Number Two, just in time for the Thanksgiving Holiday.
BE THANKFUL FOR THE GIFTS YOU ARE GIVEN–BE THEY SMALL OR LARGE. THEY MAKE THE DIFFERENCE WHEN TIMES GET HARD!
I am summarizing a recent experience into a helpful life lesson, I feel someone should learn from my mistakes. You’re welcome.
*
Sept 6 – Itchy inception. Yard work and two red dots on shins convince me I have mosquito bites. But the new plants are planted. Hurray!
Sept 7 – Wake up itching–more spots on legs. Convinced I have bedbugs, I spend the next two days packing every damn thing in my bedroom. It’s a lot. Bags everywhere. I haul boxes to the basement. Wash everything in hot water. Bake it at 500° until smoking.
Sept. 10 – By Wednesday, I have more bites than I can count – frantic itching everywhere. I see the VA doctor for annual physical – I mention the bedbugs and show her the numerous bites. Her response (from the doorway): “I don’t think it’s bedbugs. I’m writing you a prescription.”
NOTE: I do not ask her what she thinks it is. This is lesson the first. ALWAYS ASK FOLLOW UP QUESTIONS!
I go home with Permethrin cream. I slather myself and hope for it to work regardless. I have covered all mattresses in the home with bedbug proof materials, the couch has a nice new plastic sheeting. I have sprayed likely surfaces with over-the-counter bedbug napalm. I dream of chemical Armageddon raining down on the small blood sucking creatures.
Sept. 11 – Bites have spread up my neck and all over my face. Even my eyelids are puffy and sore. I’m beginning to doubt I have bedbugs. But I call an exterminator/inspector and schedule an appointment.
Sept. 12 – Inspector arrives–barely in his twenties. He examines my whole bedroom, common area, and basement. Conclusion: “You don’t have bedbugs. That’ll be $175.00.”
Now realize, based on a Google search of my medication, I truly have scabies. And that Alexei has not been treated. Frantically call his doctor’s office for an Rx for the kid.
Sept. 13. – Saturday – I realize that though I have boxed everything in my bedroom and changed sheets like a germaphobe with OCD every single day–I forgot to clean my new CPaP headgear, mask and my keychain around my neck and realize I have likely reinfected myself. I go to an urgent care to get a new RX for me. (One tube is not enough for two treatments, fyi.)
Both Alexei and I treat ourselves that evening–going to sleep wearing the white, medical-grade insecticide. We can shower when we wake.
Sept. 14 to 19 – I go nowhere–other than slowly out of my mind. I send messages to my doctor’s office that get crazier by the day. My son, thankfully, has his father’s constitution. He does not exhibit any sign of infection and goes to school. I stay home and scratch and scratch and scratch.
Sept. 20 – Second treatment of Permethrin. I am convinced this cream is a panacea and that I will never see the end of these little )⚡︎&@%$! burrowing blood suckers.
Sept. 21-22 – I swear I am never going out in public again. I break up with the massage chair at the mall (one of several possible culprits for infection based on the timeline.) I stand everywhere I go, just in case. I am a complete nutbar even though I’m supposedly cured.
Sept. 23 Starting to feel better. The doctor’s office calls me in to double check and to give me flu shot. I get a clean bill of health.
After this ghastly period, you would think my bad luck was used up for the year. You would be wrong. But I’ll save that tale for another post. This was traumatic enough.
Now I dare you to go sit in public, especially at doctor offices, and not wonder who was sitting in it just moments before? And does it feel like something is crawling under your skin? It just might be!
Fun Fact: Scabies can live on surfaces for up to two to three days.
Fun Fact #2: The first time you get scabies, you might not have a reaction right away. According to Google:
“First-time infections cause itching and rash in 2-6 weeks, while a second infection triggers symptoms in just 1-4 days because the immune system has already been sensitized.”
This was my second bout. And hopefully, my last.
Here’s a picture of me at my maddest, baddest, and most dangerous to know.
I did a thing yesterday. I made a fun-fun outfit for my kid for school. No one made me. I did this on purpose. And I only set off the fire alarms once…
*****
Spirit Week has some fun options but I get absolutely fixated on an idea for Monday’s Fleece or Flannel Day. I order some things from Amazon before I quit my free month of Prime. (Take that, Jeff B.!)
I cobble together a complete outfit, but his pants have a problem. They are too comfortable. Too easy-to-wear for public venues. So…beltloops are the answer.
Last night I learned the truth the universe has hidden from me–beltloops are the devil’s accessory. I have also learned that I will pay anyone whatever they ask to never have to add beltloops again! (I paid someone $1250 to have a tree removed last week that I swear took less time that it took me to make these damned loops from hell.)
I begin my project by waiting until the absolute last minute to start it.
[Sidebar: I have my first ADHD testing tomorrow; I wonder what I will learn?]
First up…I have to find my supplies that were hidden during a recent curse/plague/scourge that required stuffing nearly all of my house in garbage bags. Be grateful you are only hearing about pants today.
I ask the internet how to make beltloops. It is only so helpful.
I hunt, I search, I eventually find. I snip. I cut. I iron. (Setting off the fire alarm in the process.) I pin. I poke myself about eleventy-billion times. Ow.
I ask my internet what the hell this thing is on my sewing machine? The internet suggested I go find a manual and look it up myself. Sigh.
Footer Tension Mechanism or Button-Hole Related – The Internet Wasn’t Sure Which.
I only sew only one of the things on the wrong way…and I had a seam ripper to pull it apart and sew it back on correctly. I call that a victory.
It takes me about 5 hours to put 8 beltloops of questionable construction in place.
The next morning, I dress the boy in all-over orange and greyish black flannel plaid with orange argyle socks.
You can’t even see the beltloops in place. But trust me, they are there! And I am very proud that this day is over.
Now to find something Black and Orange for tomorrow! What a shame he can’t wear this two days in a row!
TheDustSeason 