I have largely lost the last few days to afflictions, poleaxed by pain of several varieties, immobilized by exhaustion, escaping into sleep, into music that delights me, and into familiar old tv dramas with moral lessons that satisfy my desire for order in the world.
One of the afflictions comes with rapid descents into very low barometric pressures (as has happened twice in the last three days, as sea storms sweep through coastal California). The other is a mystery ailment that has variously annoyed and plagued me for many years: intensely itchy spots over most of my body, but especially my limbs, sometimes maturing into actual pustules; I have taken to referring to this condition as the itchies. On the night of the 14th/15th, I had the worst attack of the itchies in my life, all over my body, too many to count, indescribably awful.
But … the barometric pressure rises to something tolerable, or even delightful, within a few hours. And the Assault of the Itchies tale has a delightful denouement. So I am worn out but happy. And in the midst of this, my vital signs have been splendid, in particular very low blood pressure and a stunningly good resting pulse rate.
Alas, the day has wound down — I am in good shape, and happy, but worn out — so I will put off all the exciting details for tomorrow: Pressure Drop and the Itchies.
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