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Monday, Filing my taxes naked Oh, yeah. If only the IRS could see me now. But the true adventure started this morning, when I woke up disgustingly early and decided to go into work (why I woke up, I dunno. Had a nice chat with Lyndon about the taxes, though). Being the dutiful little pill-popper that I am, I took all my vitamins, my thyroid pill, ate a peanut butter sandwich, slugged down a bottle of Starbucks Hazelnut Frappucino, and hopped in the car to head into work. About halfway there, my cheeks started to tingle, like the feeling you get when you've been out in the sun just a little too long -- not quite a burn, but definitely too much heat. Then the tingle started to sting. Then to hurt. Then it started to spread over my scalp and down my neck, making my ears pound. I realized that I felt like I was on fire.
Well, I do, now -- it's on Campbell Road east of 75 (I'm just glad I saw the big blue H sign), so I headed over there feeling like I was about to burst into flame. The triage nurse agreed that it was probably an allergic reaction, and asked me to sit down and wait to be seen (which I could understand -- I was still upright, wasn't having breathing problems and my throat wasn't swelling -- painful but not life-threatening).
Admittedly, I did feel a certain naughty frisson, especially when TaxCut informed me that I couldn't file electronically because of the foreign address and needed to send in the paper forms. I was momentarily tempted to just hop in the car, find a mailbox, deposit the stamped envelopes and return to the garage au naturel. Good taste and a concern for the mental well-being of any policeman who pulled me over, however, intervened. Hmm. I wonder if I could have blamed it on the steroids. . .
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Oh,
shit, I thought, recognizing the signs of a full-blown allergic
reaction. And I don't know where a hospital is.
While
I was waiting, I glanced down at my hands. And my arms. And my ankles.
And realized that I was bright pink-red all over (the nurse said
later that it was on my face, too). Ewwwwwww -- talk about clashing
with my hair. The flush receded slightly by the time I was called
in to an examination room, where the doctor who checked me agreed
that it was an allergic reaction to either the peanut butter (which
I devoutly hope not, since I love PB), the hazelnut frap, or some
combo of one or both with the vitamins, and prescribed Benadryl
and steroids via IV and in pill form for the next three days. I
managed to talk the nurse into skipping the IV and letting me take
them in pill form, as it's a pain in the ass to get an IV in my
tiny, tiny veins and my skin was still hurting from the flush. Went
into work just long enough to check my email and leave a note explaining
that I'd be back that afternoon, and went home to sleep off the
reaction.
Needless
to say, I wasn't at my perkiest when I did go back into work that
afternoon (to pick up the tax documents that Lyndon had sent to
the office), and by the time I got home I was tired, sweaty and
generally sticky and uncomfortable. Which is how I wound up filing
my taxes naked -- it seemed logical to go take a shower and wash
off all the sweat and unpleasantness from the morning, and since
all the blinds were drawn and the weather was so warm, there really
didn't seem to be any sense in getting dressed just to sit down
and backfile three years' worth of US tax forms over the net.
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