Spots Macintosh

I woke up yesterday morning feeling that it was much like any other morning -- hot and boring. Lifting myself from the corpse shaped crater in my mattress, I pulled my shirt off and stumbled out onto my little balcony, which is my little crow's nest from which I can survey the mood of the city crawling up towards the mountain in the distance. It was a calm day -- until a mosquito flew directly into my ear, at which point it became a bad day.

I stumbled into the shower and caught a glimpse in the bathroom mirror to discover that my body was digitized -- and poorly. I was pixilated, completely (as in completely) covered in red spots. My first response was to blame the mosquito, whose fault, upon medical consultation, it proved not to be. So for a few minutes I gazed wonderingly at my being and wondered why I must be both star-crossed and studded at the same time. Under my left nipple is something like the constellation capricorn, while above my right hip sits something that looks like the Arc d'Triomphe. Across my back, an archipelago resembling the Marshall Islands. Which makes me think that maybe this is a treasure map embedded in my genes -- it does, incidentally, already point toward my booty.

So like an albino cheetah I went through the rest of the day using the skin condition to my best advantage. Someone wanted to drag me to his suit tailor shop but when I turned my forearm over and showed him Spotsylvania he quickly backed off -- his forefingers crucifix crossed. An ex-female acquaintance of mine with whom I'd like to distance myself was equally thwarted with my warning that it was indeed very very contagious.

Anyhow, I bought an antihistamine thinking that this had something to do with any number of things in my environment that could have set me off like this, but the Zyrtec (which you can buy over the counter here along with anti-biotics and amoxicillin) didn't work.

I waited a day and woke up this morning equally spotted after having a couple of dreams about pepperoni pizza and killer 7-Up logos. I went to a clinic. There I sat in the waiting room looking around at the other covertly sick people. There they were sitting with their little secrets bubbling under their skin and on their genitals, while I was exposed. I could play guess-why-THAT-guy-is-here all I wanted, but he already knew my problem. It was as plain as the rash on my neck. But then again, he could be reasonably sure that this miscoloration was all that I had -- whereas I could take consolation in the fact that he probably had gonorhea, you can tell by the sunglasses.

I will say this for Thailand: it didn't take very long before I saw a real doctor. He poked and rubbed me, asked how I was peeing, and took my blood. It's not dengue fever, which is good. In fact, it's probably just a virus -- he prescribed water and sleep. Fair enough.

Meanwhile: $12. I'm looking forward to sending that bill in to Blue Cross. 12 goddamn dollars is all that visit cost me. And if I were a Thai citizen, the visit would have only cost me 80 cents.

That is by far the most interesting thing that has happened to me in a while, which is why I have to leave this place. So, July 2nd my flight leaves.. though I might straggle somewhere out west before I come in to DC.

"I'm so ugly, I went to the proctologist and he stuck his finger in my mouth!"