I Thought a Spider Tried to Kill Me. Actually, I Have Shingles and I’m Obviously Dying.

That’s pretty much my story. I woke up last week with an itchy itchy bug bite. No. Set of bug bites.

bug bites or shingles

Except I don’t really get bug bites. Ever. I mean, not mosquito bites anyways. Spiders regularly try to kill me. Death bugs hunt me in my sleep. One time, I got eaten alive by something in the sandbox that made me super sick and taught me never to go near the sandbox (also, that’s where I see the leprechaun. He tells me to burn things).

So maybe I do get bug bites. But not mosquito bites like normal people. I’m lucky like that.

Anyways, hypochondriac that I am, I ask Brian if maybe I have scabies. He’s all, “No, Chrissy. It’s a fucking spider bite. Stop being crazy.”

So then, I tell Brian, “A spider tried to kill me.”

He shook his head and said, “I know.”

I asked him what he was going to do about it, but he didn’t want to go spider hunting. I don’t know what I was expecting; he didn’t even want to go Pokemon hunting with me.

And then Dr. Mom looks at it, and she’s all, “That’s shingles.”

And then my aunt looks at it, and she’s all, “It’s definitely a staph infection.”

I’m sure if my dad were there, he would have told me to put some Windex on it.

Mom looks at it the next day, “No, maybe it’s not shingles. Maybe a spider did try to kill you.”

When the itchy itchy bug bite hadn’t gone away in 4 days, Brian started Googling shingles. And comparing pictures of shingles to my back. And then Dr. Google convinced him that I needed to go to the doctor. Which is usually when I go see her.

So yesterday I made my way into the doc’s office, where I told her I come from a long line of hypochondriacs (I often tell her stupid shit like, “I’m dying” and “I’m a hypochondriac.” Quite frankly, I’m not sure why she puts up with me).

She took one look at my backdomen and told me it was shingles, and proceeded to explain everything the internet already told Brian and me the night before. I nodded appreciatively and made her think she wasn’t totally wasting her time on me, and then she told me that it’s only contagious to people who haven’t had chicken pox and somehow come in contact with the itty bitty rash under my bra line. So basically, I have to take giant pills, use the topical steroid from that one time I burned my ass and keep my shirt on. Done and done.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Have I Mentioned That I’m a Hypochondriac?

OK, so y’all are PROBABLY going to think I’m crazy (if you don’t already…and if you really don’t, WHERE THE HELL HAVE YOU BEEN?) after reading this…but it needs to be said.

In addition to the unhealthy fear that I will have MS (ever since watching the Annette Funicello Story when I was a kid) and the irrational fear of botulism…I’ve recently begun having new thoughts when it comes to my health and well-being.

Perhaps. Maybe. I might possibly. Have a gluten intolerance. Or full blown Celiac’s Disease.

You see, I’ve had some…let’s say digestive issues…for a while now.

And recently, I discovered that headaches can be a direct effect of a gluten intolerance. And have I told you about the crazy headaches I sometimes get? In which I have to wrap my head in a heating pad after popping a whole handful of over-the-counter pills in order to fall asleep?

And then yesterday I GOOGLED the canker sore in my upper lip, you know because maybe they’ve come up with a new way to kill canker sores, amiright? And you know what I found, BLOG FRIENDS?

Celiac’s Disease. Causes. Canker sores.

And Google doesn’t lie. Especially when Google is advised by WebMD.

For the past month or so, I’ve been reading labels, learning what I may have to give up, savoring every piece of bread, noodle, cupcake, cookie, muffin, bagel like it might be my last…deciding “I can do it.” and “Oh God no! Not the cookies! Not the breakfast sandwiches!”

And so Blog Friends, I think I’m going to go find out for real about this one. What would you do?

If I think that I'm a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am one?

Do you ever feel like a hypochondriac?

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Strange Thoughts I Think Regularly

I think that this is what they call writer’s block in Chrissy’s World. I typically have my posts pre-written and ready the night before…and now…not so much. And then I can’t think of what to write, even though I have had 47.2 blog post ideas to write about over the course of the week.

So I started thinking to myself,self, what’s up? You think all the time…and you can’t think of what to write. Wait. You think a lot of stupid shit, sometimes. This could make an excellent blog post.

Done.

Random Thought Process

When I say something completely random, Brian often asks me where the hell it came from. So I repeat the entire thought process back to him and he’s all like, “Oh. That makes perfect sense…now.” Because it didn’t until I explained what I was thinking. The same thing goes for when I’m Googling random shit on the internet of my fancy phone. This explains why I Google things like: skunk predators, rhythm method, and salmon burgers. (All this week).

But I also have recurring thoughts

We all know I’ve got a little hypochondriac in me. I’ve often thought and probably said a time or two…If I think that I’m a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am?

Along the same lines, I start to wonder about x,y, or z on my body, and think, what if it’s cancer? What if I have MS? What if I have that shaking disease that Michael J Fox has (At this point, I would Google “Michael J Fox disease” and come up with Parkinson’s)? I go through lists of symptoms in my head and Google the results…According to Google, I am almost always on death’s door. But as Katie mentioned, I would kick Death’s ass in a Scrabble match…so maybe I’d be okay.

I used to have a lot of problems with driving. I was a bad driver. Now, I’m a much better driver. When I say that I’m a shitty driver, Brian says, “No, you’re not. You’re a really good, cautious driver. You may have been a bad driver in the past, but not since I’ve known you.” One of the reasons that I am likely such a better driver has to do with the thought process I have whilst driving.I will often envision the potential accidents, problems, etc that could happen, and how I would react to them. I think about hitting the car in front of me, getting rear-ended, or even getting attacked by an evil deer (More on that later).

Actually, long before I was an adequate driver, I used to think about the excuses that I could come up with when I was driving fast. I’m sorry officer, my boyfriend just broke up with me. My best friend just moved to *insert other state here.* My mom is sick. My grandfather just passed away. I just lost my job… I would think about the excuses, so that I was ready for anything. Except when I wasn’t. And that’s when I got pulled over. The officer doesn’t want to hear, “I’m on my way to traffic safety school and it’s my mom’s birthday,” or “I was just running to the liquor store,” or “Sorry, officer, I’m drunk and going from one bar to another.

There was one time, in which I got pulled over for making an illegal right turn on a red light…The officer asked if I knew why he pulled me over. I told him, “No, officer I don’t.” He said that I made an illegal turn on red. “Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry.” He looked at my license and asked, “So how long have you lived in Glen Ellyn?” I was 5 blocks from my parents house… “Pretty much my whole life…” So he asked, “And you didn’t know there was no turn on red there?” My response was priceless. I was going for ignorant and ditzy…”I’m not very observant…” The officer took it as snarky and insolent. Whoops. Ticket.

I often start thinking something ridiculous, weird, dirty, or judgy. And then I’ll think to myself, self, what if someone here can hear your thoughts? Just because you can’t read minds doesn’t mean it’s not possible. What if they can hear every thought in your brain. They know you just checked out that guy’s package. They know you just make a really mean comment about that girl’s outfit. They hear you thinking about how you really want to pick your nose. They know. They know and hear and see all. You can’t hide from this shit. They’re judging younow.

Do you ever have strange thoughts?

 

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!

Top Secret Mission and Things That I Don’t Love About My Apartment

Good morning readers! Today, I am on a top-secret mission. So I only have 4.32 minutes to write a blog post-here goes:

I love that we have our own apartment. I love that it is our space. I love that we have two bedrooms with a washer and dryer inside of our apartment. I love that our bedroom is HUGE compared to the last one. Yet, I have never lived in a real apartment. College doesn’t count, because those were fancy-pants Bradley owned apartments. This one is not.

Five Things I Don’t Love About My “New” Apartment

  1. The stovetop is NASTY. Not only is the stove relatively ancient, the metal dishes under the electric heaty dealies are rusting away to nothing.
  2. No garbage disposal. There are very few things that I think are more disgusting than cleaning out the sink drain. Wet, gross food remnants that you have to shake or wipe off into the garbage. Ick.
  3. The broken fridge. Yes, as I mentioned earlier this week, I was forced to throw away cheese. From Wisconsin. This is a travesty in itself. The light wouldn’t turn off inside, which heated the cheese into a disfigured warm mess of cheese. If it hadn’t been like that for days, I wouldn’t have minded much. But it had…so I did.
  4. The cabinets. Which are wood, which is nice…but they have likely been wood since 1983. And that is also gross. Because imagine how many tenants have put their food and dishes on those cabinets. Not everyone is as logical as me, and therefore may have put cleaning products or something gross where I keep the crackers to go with my cheese.
  5.  The biggest thing that I do not love about our apartment, though, is the fact that it is making me ill. I’ve often asked the question, “If I think that I’m a hypochondriac, does that mean that I am?” Well, yes. Maybe.  But the hypochondriac in me is convinced that the headache I’ve had nonstop since moving in is directly related to the apartment. Maybe it’s mold. Maybe it’s carbon monoxide. Regardless. My head has not stopped hurting. And it is not fun.

Well, I said I only had a few minutes…and now I must depart. Top secret mission ensues. While you’re here, go and enter my giveaway for the Chicago Toy & Game Fair passes! FREE. Freakin. Giveaway. Just comment. That’s all. Comment.

Hey! Did you know you can buy my book on Amazon? 37 women wrote about the struggle for perfection, and I'm one of 'em. Go check it out!