Mr. Hives and Me

I met Mr. Hives for the first time during the summer after my sophomore year of college. I was 19, finishing up two summer classes and working two part-time jobs. Six weeks of summer remained before I had to return to college to start RA training.

Mr. Hives showed up unexpectedly during my Microeconomics final. He pestered me through the essay test and followed me to work at Wal-Mart. Eventually, my manager sent us home. Mr. Hives and I had a five-week long affair. I did everything possible to get rid of him: took cold showers, stayed out of the sun, took steroids and all sorts of medicines, a shot of adrenaline...everything. He knocked me off my feet, left my hands trembling and sore, and made my skin red and welted. His presence made me a wreck.

Eventually he decided that he had done enough damage to me physically and emotially, so he left. He promised that as long as I stayed off the minocycline and tetracyclines, he would leave me alone.

Until today. Mr. Hives came back. The bastard. This time, he is listing bactrim as the drawing power to me. While welts keep breaking out on me, the debilitating arthritic symptoms aren't as bad as they were before. My fingers and hands are sore and I can't turn my neck, but otherwise it's not too bad. I have more good drugs, and I got out of work early (even though I'm having anxiety attacks over my backlog of work). I guess I'm taking a partial sick day since no one wanted Mr. Hives and me in the office.

Damn you, Mr. Hives, damn you.