Apparently I have Dermatographia, which essentially means that I’m allergic to skin injury. Well, more correctly, it means that my skin produces hives in reaction to being scratched or hit or exposed to extreme temperatures, but really, that sounds an awful lot like being allergic to injury to me. And I applaud my body on its choice of allergy. This is far more logical than being allergic to, say, eggs. Eggs are good for you. Eggs are a pain to avoid. Skin injuries, on the other hand, have no real up-side, so I’m totally on board with being allergic to them.

Apparently, my Dermatographia has gone “haywire.” (That’s the technical term, as used by my brand new-to-me dermatologist.) Apparently now all it can take to induce hives is brushing up against something, feeling a breeze, getting warm or cold, or wearing clothes. In other words, now I’m allergic to the sense of touch.

I’ll take Ridiculous But Hilarious Diagnoses for $1000, please.

On NPR, a concerned voice warned me, “This may be the first generation where our children will grow up to be sicker and have shorter lifespans than the generation before.”

“Members like you make this possible,” an anchor’s voice informed me, “We are grateful for your support. Please contribute online or call…”

Wait, what?

Oh, right, this must have been the end of a montage of recent stories meant to remind me of the high quality reporting NPR provides.

Spring arrived. Official spring, that is, as well as a few promising leaf buds on some of the braver trees. Two steps forward.

But here in my world our long winter refuses retreat peacefully to its arctic summer home. A weekend snowstorm made driving an exercise in bravado in the near-white-out conditions. Another snow storm is coming in a couple of days. One step back.

—

Meanwhile, I’ve been getting stronger. Sure there are lots of difficult days, and not every day is better than the last, but compared to a year ago things are better. Sometimes I can even walk for a mile at a time. And so, in a fit of optimism, I bought the Wii Fit set. I’ve heard lovely stories about games that get you moving without feeling strenuous. That seems right up my alley. Two steps forward.

It arrived just as I hit a goodly slump; I was too wiped out even to open the Amazon box for a week much less unpack the game. But things are getting on a more even keel now, so I spent some time opening a couple weeks’ worth of mail. And the Wii Fit set. I was a little dismayed that part of the installation process involved it calculating my BMI and my basic coordination skills. I was more dismayed when the cheerful music accompanied the happy announcement that the Wii considers me to be among the population “least likely to get sick.” Shut up, Wii. Keep your cheerful music and your boundless optimism to yourself. In fact, go sit in that corner and think for a while on the error of your ways. One step back.

We’re at that point of the winter when the sounds of snow blowers and snow plows in the morning signal dejection rather than thrill. It snowed. Again.

It’s been months since I could drive around town and see oncoming traffic before entering an intersection, or throw a shovel full of snow high enough to have it land on top of the drift at the bottom of my driveway, or make it out to refill the bird feeder.

We’re at that point in winter when the snow on the ground is rarely white. Most of the time it’s steel grey, or at best the same color as the sky: the color of dead fish eyes. Even the leafless trees have lost their brownness and have slipped into some grey-brown state that tells you their souls have gone elsewhere.

Three more months of snow. Four till there’s any color. And “spring break” is just 6 weeks away, ready to mock me with it’s stunning lack of spring and its equally stunning lack of break.

Of course, the neighborhood children seem to be quite content. Some of the drifts have been hollowed out by industrious children, the 5-foot banks looking like hills inhabited by hobbits — little round doors and little round windows letting little round people in and out with their steaming mugs of cocoa. So maybe they woke up to the sounds of the plows and thrilled, for the umpteenth time this winter, to the idea of new-fallen snow.

It had been a bad day after a string of bad days. The high point of the day had been a nap, and I hate naps. The other high point had been a grilled cheese sandwich, and I’m glad I enjoyed that because it turned out to be the only meal I had all day.

7:30 rolled around and I roused myself to go put the recycling and trash containers out on the curb, feed the cat, find food for myself, and settle in to watch Masterpiece Theater before bed. Next thing I knew, I was flat on my back on the icy sidewalk and some annoying person was saying “Ow ow ow ow ow” in my ear. It took me a minute to realize that the annoying person was me, and that since it was me I’d be able to make that person SHUT UP ALREADY. It took another minute to realize that the recycling container had clobbered me on the way down and was still on top of me. And it took several more minutes before I managed to roll myself over, maneuver myself to my hands and knees, and finally stand up.

I decided the trash could wait until next week. So could supper, for that matter.

Today I’m fine as long as I don’t sit, stand, walk, or bend. Especially bend. Today I’m also scheduled in for work stuff right through until 10pm. Yippee!