My mother and father were hardly bit during our time in Minnesota. Often times I'd be outside and they'd be carrying on like nothing was happening. Meanwhile, my virgin Southern California skin was being raped by hungry and violent blood-thirsty assholes called Mosquitoes.
At first they didn't itch that badly. I'd itch a little and then it would pass and there would just be this red welt bump thing left as a reminder of my violation. But then it was time to leave. As if they sensed I would forget them, several mosquitoes attached my feet and ankles. And when I tell you these bites itch like hell I mean exactly that: They. Itch. Like. Hell. I wish I could cut off my feet so the itching would stop. I'm not even being dramatic.
Curious about scratching I looked it up. This is what I found:
"So why does scratching feel so good? Carstens said scratching might turn on nerves that stimulate pleasure systems in the brain."
This is going to be a rough transition, but hang in there with me. I think this is going to be profound. Or really stupid.
All this scratching got me thinking about exes.
This last month I have been busy being in love. Like really probably for the first time in love. In the past I always left one foot out of the love equation, just so I couldn't really get all the way hurt. It didn't help (much), but the practice of not giving my all to any one person was a hard habit to break. There are people who can let go of interests quickly. There are people who can let go of exes quickly. I'm not really one of them. I hang on to possibilities and talk and chat and obsess and do all kinds of other unhealthy things until I'm like 90 percent sure something is going to happen and by then it's usually way too late. I flirt and I'm casual and I keep my options open and I even hang onto unhealthy relationships much like chronic dieters hang onto the 4 sizes too small pair of pants: you know you're never going to fit into them but your closet looks so bleak without them hanging there that you keep them forever.
Exes and possibilities are like scratching. They turn on the nerves that stimulate pleasure systems in the brain. Until they don't.
So I literally had to stop scratching the itch. I stopped talking to people who were four sizes too small for me. I let myself be comfortable in the realization that someone could actually know all of me and love me and that would be more than enough for me to handle. I stopped reading old emails or old messages or old facebook posts or whatever caused me to itch more. I focused on... I focused on her.
I think there are some people, like my parents, who never really get that many bites after awhile. They don't itch. I told my father that the mosquitoes are just tired of his blood. They saw me coming and needed a new "fix." I think there are some bugs that just love to irritate you and go on to another when they realize their poison isn't affecting you.
It took eleven days for me to realize what the ointment was. I'm looking forward to dousing myself in it for the rest of my life.
There are better ways to stimulate pleasure systems.
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