I woke up in the middle of the night, already raking my nails over the lump forming on the bump at the top of my foot that only Fred Flintstone and I could call an ankle bone. I kept scratching the little bite because I knew the second I stopped it would be agony. I scratched and I scratched, it was nearly euphoric. If I stopped, if I stop scratching, if I stop running my nails over this little bite, agony.
Eventually I had to stop.
And, then I laid there, awake. Itching. Thinking. Knowing that there was some sort of metaphor in here somewhere but I was too tired to grasp it.
I think I'll just keep scratching.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
I'm Scratching This Itch and I Can't Stop
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7 comments:
What am I supposed to say to that one? I can't just go around singing about how you have bugs, now. Damn you for being all insightful.
Speaking of scratching, I knew this guy in drug rehab who scratched a scab right off his arm, and he was HIV positive. Scary, huh?
I don't know about metaphors, but I similarly woke up in the middle of the night with a terrible itch. It was on my hand. I scratched it. It felt sooooo good. As soon as I stopped it was like the flaming mushrooms of hell coming after me. Argh!
I just got rid of a nasty scab on my ankle caused by middle of the night scratching of poison ivy. There is no metaphor. Just a crappy assed place on my ankle.
This email makes me want to scratch all of my ninja mosquito bites. They ALL itch now. FUUUUUCK!
can you use calamine on a metaphor?
scratch n' sniff?
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