29 August, 2006

The Itch is worse than ever

I woke up after a dream about asthma, walking and gone-off meat to discover that I was in the midst of an asthma attack. Being too lazy to get out of bed until I was up, Rosa kindly fetched my inhaler and got me up.
We'd washed a sheepskin rug, and left to hang up and dry in the room I was sleeping in, which pretty much goes against every allergy thing there is and I've been feeling the itch in my nose, sneezing, sniffing and scratching all morning.
The rug must be full of dust mites, and there's dust everywhere as we took the curtains down to wash them, too, and then damp stuff hung up everywhere is perfect for dust mites to breed in. Aaargh!
It gave me a feeling of involuntary loss of bodily functions (careful, now.) I wandered about the flat tic-ing and running about for loo roll, scrunching up my face and saying, "Gahk!" a lot.
I then had to post bike keys off to France (after having borrowed bikes and wandered off with them) and started getting all morose about being back in the city again (and having rubbish vegtables, rant, rant, rant ...)
I came home the other day to find Rosa had covered our kitchen wall in a kind of brain-storming exercise for how to survive the pending oil crisis (and corresponding economic collapse according to Rosa - I'm sceptical that it will be as bad as she says). More on that, and maybe a photo, another time.