Professional Back Scratcher needed. Apply within.

Internets, I have the shingles. The shingles! Shingles are NOT fun. No way, no how. What is fun, however, is self-medicating your shingles with frozen custard. What is also fun? Calling shingles "the shingles."

So, yeah. The shingles. Apparently LMNT is not immune to the diseases most commonly associated with those in their advanced years like shingles and pneumonia. What's next? Becoming a bad tipper? Slow driving? Beating down the door to the Golden Corral at 4:45 for the sunsetter's special?

Note to self: Relax.

If you're not in advanced age, shingles is usually caused by an extremely weakened immune system or from stress. When I went to see my doctor today, she asked me if I was really stressed out. I don't think so. I mean I'm always in a heightened state of high-strungedness, but I'm not any more stressed out than usual. I don't think it's work; if anything is stressing me out, it's all of life's extra-curricular activities, like: will I make it to the soccer game on time, do we have enough women to play in our flag football game, and can I assemble a team for a mini-golf charity event? Internets, apparently the adult co-rec activities in which I participate have caused a viral herpes outbreak on my back (a big fat you're welcome to all the 12-year-olds trapped inside of you that chuckled their way through that sentence).

So, sports are bad and the shingles are worse.

It started out as a rash on my back, not necessarily itchy but noticably present. Then there were the random bruise like pains in my groin and running down my rib cage. Something did not seem right, so last night I took to the web to feed my hypochondria through trusty website diagnosis. Shingles seemed an obvious choice. And actually there were several other somewhat obscure and fatal choices that to my brain seemed quite possible, nay probable, so I spent the better part of the night stressing out about the fact that I'd be lucky to be awake in the morning because I'd probably be consumed whole by the flesh-eating disease currently devouring my back. Remember the part about stress causing the shingles? Yeah, I don't think I was helping my own cause. Oh and looking at pictures of shingles on skin on the Internets (skinternets)? That didn't help my cause either.

So, I'm gonna try to get all zen, but it's a really hard state to achieve when I'm simultaneously prickling with the sensation that all the scratching in the world won't relieve this itch, and writhing from the pain of someone having kicked my ribcage into oblivion, and the back pain, and the swollen lymph nodes, and the rash, and the uncontrollable urge to strap anything colder than room temperature onto my lower back. Oh, and not to mention the doctor's recommendation to take 6 grams of vitamin C each day. You might think that's not a lot, but 6 grams is actually 12 normal doses of vitamin C. Count them (like you would if you were going to the ladybug picnic): 12 pills! And, by the way, that much vitamin C wreaks havoc on your intestines. But I'm going to be all zen about this as my body is trying to tell me something, and if I don't listen I think the vitamin C will smack me in the face, pull my hair, and threaten a swirly until I start listening.