  It isn't mine,  this sandpaper face,  this tight,  dry,  rough skin that feels as though it is trying to tear itself off and run around screaming. nbsp;
 These rough rimmed lips,  this swollen eye,  this look of misery is not me. nbsp;  The most lovely laughing conversations dull the frustration somewhat,  but unmeasured smiles even stretch this ugly canvas too tight for comfort.
nbsp;  Sad when you try not to smile,  hands hovering near that miserable blistered skin,  hover flapping with the desire to touch,  to tear skin from bone. nbsp;
 I will never take this lightly again. nbsp;  & nbsp;  I have narrowed it down,  in the hours spent trapped in this alien body wrap my flesh has become,
 whittled away the possibilities until I have mapped out its path to my bare softness. nbsp;  The handle of the broom I used to sweep the trail,  used by gloved hands that pulled the Weed from trailside. nbsp;  Everywhere that wood touched,
 sweeping raised rash. nbsp;  Hot sweat,  I wipe my upper lip with that toxic hand. nbsp;  A mosquito lands on my arm,
 high by the inside shoulder,  I swipe it away. nbsp;  Sweat gathers on the curve of the tender skin inside my elbow,  I wipe in on my shirt,  the oil spreads.
nbsp;  Play with my glasses with these toxic hands,  put them back on -  the backs of my ears look like a bad Halloween makeup job. nbsp;  Then happy tired I bike home,
 thinking foolish blissful thoughts of how I never touched the Weed,  should be fine as long as I wash up. nbsp;  I wash up,  but not the glasses,  not the camera neck strap.
nbsp;  I swear that oil has a cackle,  that its life work is seeping silent under my skin until my body shrieks and rejects it in blistered skin,  weeps it away over weeks. nbsp;  &
nbsp;  I thought a lot about pain today. nbsp;  While I certainly don't enjoy it,  I am unafraid of pain. nbsp;
 It can be endured,  stoic,  a companion. nbsp;  This,  this is enough to drive one mad.
nbsp;  My eyes peer out from a face I do not recognize,  a skin that feels like burlap stretched over pebbles. nbsp;  Everything is tight,  dry,
 my lips have cracked and my eyes tear all the time. nbsp;  & nbsp;  I have learned things through my desperate search for knowledge these last few days. nbsp;
 You cannot spread it from scratching unless the oil itself is still on your skin. nbsp;  By the time the rash appears,  it has already reacted with your body and the nasty little bumps are simply your immune system trying to fight it off. nbsp;  If you have cleaned your skin (
and anything you have touched)  with Tecnu ( or some oil- dissolving cleanser like dishsoap)  you cannot spread it to your poor scared loved ones. nbsp;
 BUT it is very easy to recontaminate yourself from such simple things as,  in my case,  eyeglasses,  or clothing,  pillow case,  etc.
nbsp;  Obsessive cleaning is your friend,  and never stay far from the Tecnu bottle just in case it has gotten on you again. nbsp;  Wash yer dog. nbsp;
 & nbsp; nbsp; nbsp;  And once it has moved in like a smelly roommate,  hunker down,
 it won't be fun. nbsp;  The Tecnu folks make a good gel to help the maddening itch,  but it is temporary and incomplete relief at best. nbsp;  I would like to fall into an induced coma until it is better.
nbsp;  In the meantime,  I will occasionally scream and fervently hope that it will only get better from here. nbsp;
