The Screaming Heebie Jeebies
Just yesterday morning I was thinking how wonderful it is to live in the beautiful country. Lots of trees, meadows, wild flowers, space, quiet, deer and other critters.
Then the horror occurred.
The scene: About 10 pm last night, our heroine snuggled under the covers, drifting off or perhaps actually asleep. Who knows?
(tickle.....tickle....tickletickle) very small, focal sensation near top of scalp.
Diana: (possibly awake but possible dreaming) scratch, scratch, scratch. ahhh. zzzzzzz
(tickle, tickle, tickletickle) same place.
Diana: (fairly certain she is awake or close enough) scratch, scratch, scritchscritchscritch, scratch. AAAAaaahhhh. (Lies there. Starts to drift off, after all it is a work day tomorrow.)
(tickle.Tickle...TICKLE!) same place.
Diana: (Absolutely awake.) SCRATCH! SCRATCH! feel, feel, feel, feel? What's this firm bump? Where did it go? Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
(tickle. rustle. rustleticklerustle.) same place.
Diana: (Never more awake in her life.) Gently reach up and trap the firm bump in her hair, near the scalp. Go to bathroom, look for comb. No luck. Go to son's dresser, look for comb, no luck. Go to kid's bathroom, find comb, scurry back to own bathroom. Why not stay in kids bathroom? No answer for that. Sorry. Feeling like the last teen alive in a slasher movie, the teen that only had a few sips of beer and no nasties because she is plain and not slutty and therefore fated to find out what the hell is in the basement, she reaches up with comb and, steely-nerved, firmly runs the comb across the scalp and through the hair. As she is bending over the sink and has sort of long hair, she hears, rather than sees, something firm "plunk" into the sink.
She knows what it must be.
She looks with revulsion and horror.
She is right.
A tick. Wriggling. On it's back. Fortunately not engorged. Fortunately a dog tick and not a deer tick for obvious Lyme disease ramifications, although was not embedded, so even if was lyme carrying deer tick, would be OK from that standpoint.
Back to bed. Points for not waking Charles, who is peacefully sleeping, softly snoring. Lie there for 3 hours sensing here and there OVER WHOLE DAMN BODY, INCLUDING HER EAR CANALS "tickle, tickle" and responding, "scratch, scratchscratchscratch".
And why this nocturnal assault on her body? Well, it would be retaliation from those she-bitches, the thistles, which she has declared war on. But that tale is for another day.
Tickle. Tickle.
Scratch-scratch.
Sure was a beautiful morning again, today.
Then the horror occurred.
The scene: About 10 pm last night, our heroine snuggled under the covers, drifting off or perhaps actually asleep. Who knows?
(tickle.....tickle....tickletickle) very small, focal sensation near top of scalp.
Diana: (possibly awake but possible dreaming) scratch, scratch, scratch. ahhh. zzzzzzz
(tickle, tickle, tickletickle) same place.
Diana: (fairly certain she is awake or close enough) scratch, scratch, scritchscritchscritch, scratch. AAAAaaahhhh. (Lies there. Starts to drift off, after all it is a work day tomorrow.)
(tickle.Tickle...TICKLE!) same place.
Diana: (Absolutely awake.) SCRATCH! SCRATCH! feel, feel, feel, feel? What's this firm bump? Where did it go? Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait.
(tickle. rustle. rustleticklerustle.) same place.
Diana: (Never more awake in her life.) Gently reach up and trap the firm bump in her hair, near the scalp. Go to bathroom, look for comb. No luck. Go to son's dresser, look for comb, no luck. Go to kid's bathroom, find comb, scurry back to own bathroom. Why not stay in kids bathroom? No answer for that. Sorry. Feeling like the last teen alive in a slasher movie, the teen that only had a few sips of beer and no nasties because she is plain and not slutty and therefore fated to find out what the hell is in the basement, she reaches up with comb and, steely-nerved, firmly runs the comb across the scalp and through the hair. As she is bending over the sink and has sort of long hair, she hears, rather than sees, something firm "plunk" into the sink.
She knows what it must be.
She looks with revulsion and horror.
She is right.
A tick. Wriggling. On it's back. Fortunately not engorged. Fortunately a dog tick and not a deer tick for obvious Lyme disease ramifications, although was not embedded, so even if was lyme carrying deer tick, would be OK from that standpoint.
Back to bed. Points for not waking Charles, who is peacefully sleeping, softly snoring. Lie there for 3 hours sensing here and there OVER WHOLE DAMN BODY, INCLUDING HER EAR CANALS "tickle, tickle" and responding, "scratch, scratchscratchscratch".
And why this nocturnal assault on her body? Well, it would be retaliation from those she-bitches, the thistles, which she has declared war on. But that tale is for another day.
Tickle. Tickle.
Scratch-scratch.
Sure was a beautiful morning again, today.
Labels: The Life Rural
posted by Diana at 9:33 AM
16 Comments:
Oh, Lord. MY skin is crawling. Eek.
I was shampooing my daughter's very long hair once and found an engourged deer tick stuck to her head. Freaked me out completely...off to the ER where all they did was pull it out with tweezers and tell us one woulnd't likely get Lyme's Disease on this side of the Rockies (she didn't). But let me tell you that was our first and hopefully last encounter.
Cagey- Yeah, for some reason, mine is still crawling.
Kismet- Last spring during dinner, noticed a funny mole behind my son's ear. Yup. Tick. Pulled it off. Also a dog tick. I was always thankful Lyme was not in Portland, only had to worry about folks who had traveled East and came back with them. So disgusting. Pulled one off my dog's nose in Portland with my bare fingers before I realized what it was. I screamed like a girl.
I'm on my way up to my room to wash the sheets before I go to bed tonight.
Er, lovely.
I used to get mine from the dead ship. Oh no wait, and the very dead badger whose skin was moving on its own. That one had ticks, fleas and endoparasites literally pouring out of his bum. We also almost died due to Frontline poisoning, we got a bit carried away. Fun!
Did you know that some ticks can survive for up to 7 years on a branch, waiting for a victim, and that others have a gathering of the tribe in a cave? They're actually fascinating little buggers when you're not trying to identify them under a magnifying lense.
(Picnic was off bcs couldn't find seaweed at all, and he straved himself along the way bcs I'd said I was preparing something, and he actually looked green w exhaustion when I picked him up - tiiiimber! -so I figured he needed more than a bit of salad, carbohydrates it was. Actually v tasty. He ate a scarily big amount and yet still breathes.)
Gerah- As soon as I get a minute, the bed is coming apart and getting a thorough cleaning under and in-between.
Lioness- Agh! (As an aside, Charles learned Sunday at 2AM on TV that Badgers in this area prefer to dine on ground squirrels.) 7 years!! No hope for us. Yes, he certainly sounds like he needed something hearty. The picnic can be done later. Sweet of him to put your food plans ahead of his constitution. 10 Points to Gryffendor.
"10 Points to Gryffendor."
Oh how I adore you!
Nyyyuuuuurrrrrggh, I hate ticks. Ooh, I hate ticks. I haven't had any yet this season, but now that I've said that, I can feel it coming...
I never ever want to see a tick of any species on my person. They are too horrifying.
This is gross--but a creepy old boyfriend of mine found one in his butt crack once.
YUUUUUUUUUUUUUK!!!!!!
Jamie- I think most would say your snake tales trump my tick one.
Rozanne- Ug. Yuck, yuck, yuck. I suppose it would be one measure of his creapiness to know his response to finding such a horror in such a (ahem) personal place.
Until I had joined the military year ago I had never even seen a tick. That was until one was embedded in my hip!
How it crawled under my uniform which was belted, and my t-shirt that was tucked into the belt and my boots where the pants were tucked into and tied up tight, and then for god's sake underneath my underwear, I will never know. I hate them!
i meant years not year.... I have been out of the Army for a good many years now :)
Mojavi- Welcome back! Glad you clarified the "years" issue, I thought I really had missed something. That is one persistant tick. Given all that, I will feel less guilty about not doing the whole "tuck everything into everything and bare no skin in tick country". Looks like it makes little difference. Thanks. Hope Vegas was good to you!
He was actually kind of proud of and fascinated by finding it there. I would say that reaction ranks pretty high on the creepiness scale. There are other butt-crack stories about him I cold relate, but it seems I'm always polluting your blog with gross comments so I'll refrain.
And you want Grawma to come our in the summer?? !! I guess maybe I will refrain from some of my outdoor wanderings this year. This one is really gross. Mosquitos don't scare me but ticks, YUCK!
Love. C.
Eww.
Now my skin is crawling. And I'm remembering many a camping trip with the Tick police (Mom) making us strip in the tent so she could check for the little buggers.
Also made me think of the time I went swimming in Lake Ely and couldn't figure out why there was several splotches of mud on my skin. Yeah. Not mud. Gigantic leeches. Eww again.
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