Wednesday, May 30, 2012


I was sitting at my desk, working. So much to do but suddenly feeling capable, like everything was going to work out. Until this nagging worry came back to twist my stomach.

And I thought to myself, "I know I have something to worry about, but I can't remember what it is."

And then my head itched and I remembered I had been exposed to lice.

I hate lice. I know from personal experience what a bother they are. When I was a kid I got treated for lice every time I came back from the jungle. My mom would mix vaseline and kerosene together and rub it through my hair. You had to wear it all morning before you could wash it out, and you stank. I've had it with my own kids and the thought of dealing with those little critters stresses me out.

Still, I thought it was ridiculous to be worried about something so apparently unremarkable that a person could forget.

I thought of the friend I'd run into the day before. I hadn't seen her in awhile and she told me, "I've been dealing with the whole breast cancer thing."

Thinking of her I felt very happy that my worry was simply about the possibility of lice.

Of course today, I've been overly grateful that the itching appears to have been psychosomatic.