IT’S RAINING, IT’S POURING

So it’s been raining for most of the end of June and the first half of July here in Xi’An. Normally, I would embrace the break from the sweltering weather. However, as I’ve discovered, it’s not really a break from sweltering weather, merely the addition of unbearable humidity. China has been having record-breaking rain and all around us is flooding. Fortunately, I live in a stratosphere (both economic and physical) that is untouched by said flooding.

However, it does mean that I can’t do my laundry (because if I hang it out to dry, it will not dry, merely get mildewed) and my hair simply does not dry after each shower. There is also the small issue that I am completely exhausted everyday. I hadn’t really noticed anything exceptional about the exceptional exhaustion as it has truly been unspeakably hot and humid here and I figured such levels of exhaustion were par for the course. What did catch my attention was the unshakable headache I’ve been suffering with for the past week.

I did everything in my power to keep up my fluids, to eat properly and to take painkillers but the headache simply would not leave. Soon, my joints were achy and I had developed the slight tremble I get when I am not sleeping enough. I couldn’t sort out if it was really bad PMS or a light flu.

“Not so good.” I thought, upon finally recognizing the unshakable slight tremble. As I went to bed thinking about what in the world was I going to do about the possibility of a neurological disorder in China, I noticed my back was super itchy. I didn’t think anything of it at the time because I’ve got a leak to a world of mosquitoes that just pour into my apartment, so I figured I had yet one more bug bite.

That was last Thursday. Since then I have come to realize that I have developed a mild case of shingles and that all my neurological symptoms can, most easily, be blamed on that. The virus that first causes chickenpox and then shingles, as you may or may not know, is a type of herpes. Granted, it seems like most viruses in the body are some type of herpes or another the way that most growths in the body seem like one kind of cancer or another. Fortunately, the fact is that the chickenpox/shingles virus is not the genital brand but nonetheless, to know that I have an outbreak of Paris Hilton on my back is just mortifying. Stigma aside, it could be infinitely worse.

My case seems to be a very mild case and it is easily disguised beneath clothing or even a bathing suit. Often there are outbreaks on the face and neck, often they are much larger and on not-too-rare occasion the outbreaks are painful, itchy and generally horrible. Mine is located just below my bra strap, small and only occasionally painful, itchy or numb. It is little more than a nuisance and an embarrassment. Also, I am not contagious except to anyone who hasn’t had the chickenpox and even if they have no immunity then they must touch the rash to catch chickenpox. No matter what, I can’t give someone shingles.

My blessings counted, it has not lessened the stress of this week.

Wednesday of last week, I met up with le Francais at the gym. We happened to bump into each other and we spoke for a bit.

“Oh, and [Bill] is coming.” He mentioned, knowing my interest in Bill.

“Really?” I perked up at the thought of seeing Bill.

“Yes, next week. Monday, Tuesday and Thursday.” He said, watching for my reaction.

I smiled pleasantly, as it was a bit sudden and the reality of the man I like coming to visit hadn’t really sunk in.

“But it will be all work. He won’t have time to visit.” Le Francais said, perhaps covering for his friend.

Which leaves me here. I’m certain that if Bill is interested in me, he will ask me to dinner Tuesday night, the only night of the week I have class to teach. Even if I could get out of that (which I can’t) or if he asks me for another night, there is the small matter of feeling like a leper. I can’t even do so much as kiss him without having to ask if he has had the chickenpox and I certainly can’t be naked in this state.

Six damned months and maybe he’ll show up and maybe he won’t. And, even if he does, I am guaranteed that very little, if anything will happen. The only man to touch me in over a year couldn’t stop confessing the romantic notion that, “Raping you isn’t fun for me. I don’t want to have to rape you.” Frankly, I’d simply like that whole thing struck from the record and now this!

When it rains, it pours!