So a few weeks into the poisoning, and the results are…
My elbows no longer look like Christmas-themed oven mitts. A
good portion of my legs that were covered with sandpaper are now covered with, well, skin. Well skin, even. And I can no longer effectively file my nails on my forearms.
Imagine calluses on your soles so huge that you feel like you’re wearing Crocs when you’re not. Now I have to imagine it, too, because the balls of my feet have cleared almost entirely. (Though I can’t really dance through the streets yelling, “My balls are back! I’ve got my balls back!”)
So this is awesome.
The trade-off for this advent of epidermal normalcy is bone-crushing fatigue. While I look forward to getting my fingerprints back and
not having to declare a blizzard warning whenever I brush my hair, I more eagerly await my next napping opportunity. Just the words “prone” and “supine” nearly put me under. No matter what time I go to bed, morning comes too damn fast and all day long I can’t help but dream of dreaming.
I’ve always thought of myself as a lazy person, but never before realized what an optional choice that was. Now I think I’ll have my name legally changed to Barcalounger…at least then people know what to expect.