Eye Swollen with Poison
I am writing this with one eye.
That might not be wholly accurate, as my fingers are doing the typing, not the left eyeball.
The right eye is swollen shut. Well, not entirely true either–it’s glued shut with the gel of an aloe vera plant. The literal piece of the aloe vera plant’s tip.
What a random and lucky break that we shot that commercial for the Eastern Bank of Boston. What a lucky break that we shot a portion of it at Farmer D’s. What a lucky happenstance that we were forced to fake buy plants (but ultimately real plants) . What awesomeness that Walker picked up an aloe vera. And finally, how lucky we were gifted with aloe from the shoot.
Stick in Eye
That aloe vera, fresh from the broken leaf is offering a cool soothing relief right now.
I frankly thought that it was a sacrificial plant because I’m an over-nurturer. That is, I tend to overwater and succulents usually die in a watery grave, like a Sopranos’ victim.
Thankfully, I have found some restraint and this aloe plant has survived a few months on my counter.
So, why am I afflicted with torturous, one-eyed itch? Not to mention my wrist, ankle, left side of my neck, and strangely: my left breast.
Yesterday, I forgot my entire medical history and Achilles Heel of gardening. I forgot the entire bout of my ass being annually kicked by poison ivy. I forgot how sick and disfigured I’ve been. I forgot that I was David to the big-ass Goliath poison ivy beast. I thought I would prevail. I felt frankly superior and more cleverer. The cleverest. The most cleverer cleverest.
It had to be temporary insanity and my skin is not carved of marble by Michelangelo. It is soft, albeit olive-tinged skin. And the olive does not resistant-make to malicious plant life.
In truth, it was all the fault of the chickens. I read that wisteria is bad for chickens. Poisonous.
And so I went into the newly built chicken run (that I built proudly without design or plan) and I began to prune creepy crawly wisteria off the fence with my tiny shears.
Like I always do when I’m in the zone, I keep going. I left the chickens, their run, and continued the perimeter of the fence.
When the wisteria was conquered and waved a white flag for the day, because tomorrow it will grow another three feet and thumb a big green “F U Bioootch” my way, with total and utter contempt and disregard for both my flock of chickens and yard pride—I moved on.
That led to an unwinnable duel with a monsoon- fueled poison ivy plant tag-teaming and intertwined with the more demure English Ivy. Both were trying to choke the Holy Crap out of my innocent yard-bordering oak tree, which was just stretching skyward in adolescent glory (proving this story to have some fictional characteristics because adolescents never have glory).
Really, though. This was healthy, shiny, ass-kicking, middle-finger insolent ivy. And I was overly cocky. I had some sharp tiny shears and pruning this was a challenge.
Kara VS. Ivy. Not an HBO marquee match. Still it required concentration, the balance of a serious game of Pick-Up-Sticks and the ability to suss out the trailing vine leading to those red stemmed glossy leaves.
At first, I think I was pretty cautious, but I am not a patient woman and my snipping became erratic and violent. A shiny leaf landed on that sliver of flesh between pants leg and shoe.
I jumped like bitten. And yet….
I did not stop. I rubbed an eye. Scratched my back’s small.
The whole time, I felt like I didn’t touch the insidious leaf, with the exception of the ankle glancing.
This morning, I awoke and felt badly. I felt like my body was at war, battling something. I rubbed a swollen eye, and dug at my ankle. I scratched my wrist unconsciously, a small trickle of blood leaked past the silver of the bracelet.
Leaf it On
Then I came awake and just knew that thus begins the first day of a three week period of Sisyphusian tormented itch/scratch from my utter lack of preparation, a result of my total feeling of teenage immunity and an utter lack of respect for a plant that has proven to be a nemesis.
My outer shell had been breached and the itch had begun; war declared on my own grounds.
