Let’s Talk About Sweat Baby

Today I was beaten by the heat. I have also learned that there is more stupidly hot hotness to come and this frightens me.

As I write I have a fan permanently cooling me, but he can’t come everywhere with me.

The problem is this… part of the fun I go through each morning is a medication medley. A real cocktail of prescription delights. The reading of side effects is something straight from a horror film; but they are all still preferable to my disease being free to do as it wishes.

This is according to the doctors who don’t endure said effects. Obviously my least fave is the epic weight gain from steroids but we’re dealing with that. An extremely close second is sweat. I don’t mean a little forehead beading that needs a little dab. I mean full on I think I am drowning, please send help, but all I did was get dressed, kind of sweat.

Yes. I know it’s a bit gross.

It’s insanity. It literally can look as if it is raining just over my head whilst everyone else enjoys being dry. Just to clarify, there isn’t a B.O. situation happening here & I don’t go all fat man sweaty back. It’s almost as if it is a different type of sweating experience.

Showers are worst. I have to have the shower at a fairly low temp and always blast myself with freezing water before getting out, like the hard core maniac daredevil I am. I jest, it’s because I need to cool down. I then need to rest a bit, partly because it tires me out and partly because I need to regulate.

Ha. As if I have all the time in the world to get dressed everyday. You see now my issue. If I get ready quickly the floods descend, the hair is destroyed and the make up, now barely recognisable from when it was applied 3 minutes ago, slips from my face like a discarded halloween mask.

And I haven’t even left the house.

The reason I am scared of this new threat of scorching Spanish sun is due to that fateful Tues when the temp reached 31. I had a headache all day and then boom. Inflammation hit my hair follicles and burst. My hair and head were covered in claret. Mum asked if I had tried to dye my hair with beetroot. Nope, just my head bleeding & my impression of a Freddy Kreuger scene.

It’s easy to think this is all one cruel game or test of fate. My coping mechanism is usually to remind myself that someone out there has it worse. But come on, I need some kind of a break. Self conscious enough thanks to the roids, which btw, is ironic as hell that they are the most disgusting thing to ever go in my mouth. Correct, the MOST vile.

Where was I? Oh yes, booking myself in for a pity party for one. Best grab extra towels.

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