Radio silence

OK, so here's the deal: I have this mysterious rash. No! Really! The dermatologist even biopsied it, in three places.

Last time this happened, three years ago, it was a bug-bitey thing that quickly spread to my entire body. Why I didn't end up covered in scales, I will never know. The Nazi dermatologist I went to then had me do a patch test and gave me prednisone, which made me crazy but stopped the rash in its tracks. Sadly, she never went so far as to actually diagnose the problem.

This time, the rash looks different - tiny, hard little bumps, one after the other, sprinkled all over mid-body: the small of my back, my waist, just above my elbows. Sometimes they itch like mad; other times they are bright red; still other times they look like they're going away. But they're really just gearing up for a surprise attack. Rasta! Let's make her itch!

So I went in to see the new dermatologist, who took over for the Nazi when she retired to Argentina. This guy is great. When I ask questions, he doesn't look at me like any fool would know the answer to that, which in itself is a huge improvement over my daily life.

But the biopsies he took are huge. So huge that each site looks like he was trying to make me a little coin purse in my skin. Which, let's face it, would be really handy, but instead I opted to have them closed up. Which means two stitches in each biopsy, which I have to keep moist and bug-free for two weeks.

This is just as unpleasant as it sounds.

Meanwhile, I am involved in a very exciting writing project that could lead somewhere - hallelujah -- but we are in the part where my skills suck. That's right: writing synopsis after synopsis for a (what was I thinking?) four-book series.

Because my partner in crime is on a timeline, and because I am the writer-type in this partnership, this basically means I have spent the last 3 weeks plotting out four books, one after the other.

Seriously, I should be committed. WTF made me think I could do it? I have a hard enough time plotting one book, let alone four. What are my strengths? Characterization, dialogue, imagery, layering. What are my weaknesses? PLOT. What makes me want to kill myself? ESCALATION.

So even though I am thrilled at the opportunity and really excited about actually writing these books, at the moment, I'm kind of in hell. And rather than foist all that on you, I haven't been blogging. Hey, it's either radio silence or bitch bitch bitch, right? Isn't silence better?

But here's something good: C is being just as lovely as he ever was, and this new(ish) writers' group I'm in continues to fill me with girlish glee. Tra la! Happy writers, happily writing. Which, now that I think of it, usually means wanting to kill oneself at least half the time, so maybe I'm not as badly off as I thought.

You know, a friend did a tarot reading for me a few months ago, and he told me that this summer would see me starting to really make progress against a major life goal - and that while I was ready for the challenge, that didn't mean there wouldn't be a lot of learning to be done. Guess he called that one. I wish I was better at this stuff. I have the feeling I'm disappointing my partner.