I’m working on a major announcement in the graphic novel realm, involving an adaptation of a storied franchise. Details as they emerge.
I have a horrendous case of poison ivy. Yesterday a weeping, leathery patch covered my right forearm, and the itching was…well, it was as though a nest of hornets erupted beneath my skin. Benadryl did nothing, cortisone did nothing, but then I discovered a poultice of kosher salt and baking soda. The blisters dried, the itching stopped, and now I’m sitting on the couch, dabbing the clear ooze off my flattened blisters.
Delightful.
It’s my own damn fault. Last week I pulled a bunch of roots out of our garden. I wore gloves and a t-shirt, despite all warnings to the contrary. Times like these I feel like a goldfish undergoing classical conditioning trials. Just how many attempts does it take for the goldfish to learn that square=food and triangle=electric shock?
Over 300, for those keeping track.
