I didn’t sleep well last night. I guess I was worked up/ worried about the leaks under our kitchen sink and a few things I’m not looking forward to this week including Valentine’s Day (because I’m single AF). Much to my chagrin, I discovered when I got up this morning that my efforts to stop one of the leaks didn’t work. Boo hiss. Anyway, my dad called a plumber, so now we’re waiting. And whereas I wish I could have handled the problem myself, sometimes you simply need reinforcements.

I’m talking to you, people who learn to dance on YouTube.

This afternoon I went to my dermatologist’s office for the first of three visits this week because I’m being patch tested to see what “common household ingredients” my skin reacts to. My dermatologist suggested the test when she found out I had some issues last year that were most likely connected to a laundry detergent I was using at the time. Anyway, the testing process consists of having 74 different potential irritants exposed to your back and–later–seeing how your skin responds. That is, I go back in two days to see if I’ve had an immediate reaction, then again two days after that to see if I’ve had a delayed reaction.

My whole life feels like a delayed reaction.

Last summer I was tested for allergies via a test in which my skin was actually scratched three dozen times or so. Thankfully, I didn’t get scratched today; the potential irritants were adhered to me. Below is a picture of what my back looked like right after the patches were stuck on. Tonight’s main photo was taken after this one, and it shows what my back looks like now–covered in tape to keep everything secure. The nurse told me, “No antihistamines, no showers [a bath is okay if my upper back stays dry], and no excessive sweating.”

“But a moderate amount of sweating is okay?” I asked, thinking, I don’t control my sweat glands, lady.

Eight hours after having the patches stuck on, I feel fine. A few times today I’ve felt a little itchy in a spot or two, but not all over. Of course, I’m paranoid that my skin is freaking out and am imagining that I’m allergic to everything the Dow Chemical Company every invented. The nurse did say, “Sometimes people blister and don’t even feel it.” BLISTER! Still, whatever will happen will happen, and I’m telling myself this is just information, and the more information I have the better. Not to mention, somehow I’ve survived in the world of “common household ingredients” this long.

Otherwise, today’s been whatever. When I left the dermatologist’s office, I forced myself to go to the library and do some paperwork. Woo. Every since then I’ve had a headache, this low-level throb that won’t let go no matter what I try. It’s just demanding enough that it’s hard to write, focus, or be optimistic. (Insert period of time here.) Okay, I just took (more) pills. I’m going to the gym later and don’t want to be miserable. Sometimes you simply need reinforcements.

Earlier this evening I saw my friend Bonnie and told her that despite a part of my brain knowing “this too shall pass” and that I’ll feel differently about things (Valentine’s Day, my health, my life) later, most of my brain feels like every current challenge in my life is permanent. Like, Hang it up, Marcus. Nothing ever gets better. Bonnie said, “That’s not what you’d tell a friend, though.” And she’s right, I wouldn’t. I’d say, “Sweetheart, everything changes. Give it a day or two. Take a year if you need it. You’ll feel differently soon enough.” So I’m trying to be patient with both life and myself. I’m trying to talk to me like a friend would.