Namely: a really bad itch.

Yeah, sure, I guess a lack of sleep (two hours total last night, suck on that you wimpy full-night’s sleep people, I am awesome) could also qualify as extreme discomfort, but it’s really more of a drunken buzzy edge-of-hallucination feeling than discomfort. I suppose the weird muscle spasms at 3 am could qualify, but still, no. Or the hot flashes (it’s not menopause, trust me), but also no. It’s really the itch that is the hardest thing to ignore.

Why are you so itchy, you ask? TMI ahead: Monday I had a dermatologist cut off a funny-looking mole (not cancer, the biopsy was benign). The mole was on my cleavage. So, yeah, I was a bit sad to see it disappear. No more Marilyn Monroe flash of sexiness to make me feel cool anymore, but really, it wasn’t a big deal. Until I realized I was allergic to EVERYTHING the doctor put on the wound.

Allergic to Doctor’s bandaid? Check. Allergic to four other types of bandage/surgical tape/adhesive/ointment/water/air/just-looking-at-the-damn-thing? Check. Red marks on my skin where all the various adhesives have raised patterns of itchy hellishness? Check. Why don’t I just leave it exposed, you wonder? Well, the skin is missing. It’ll take at least ten days, I think, for it to be safe from infection.

So the question remains, how does one write through such extreme physical discomfort? What will help?

—> Vodka.

Or so I thought.

I tried pouring it on the wound, but that SURE DIDN’T HELP AT ALL. No siree. Then I drank a little with my Benadryl. That was a fun couple hours right there but it didn’t really help with the writing.

So I bought myself a ginormous, chocolate chip, chocolate frosted, chocolate muffin and perched it on my desk. That will be dinner. I’m not allowed to eat it until I write my word count quota for the day.

The fumes of sweet yummy goodness are extremely discomfiting.

I have named my muffin Incentive.

(Yeah, yeah, I can hear you laughing at the obscene pun all the way in PA. Whatevs)