Bad Coffee

Made it to coffee today. After dropping off my laundry and heading to the ATM. I figured I’m gonna need it if Dr. Bondi* wants to see me again on Thursday for a follow-up. I hate dealing with being sick. My fingers are red tingly numb but other than that don’t show a rash. The tops of my feet itch. I know coffee is dehydrating, but it feels so good. The first sip tasted awful though. Old. Bitter. That’s never happened before… I see they’re playing the Tina Turner mix again. My feet itch my feet itch. Was the rash on the tops of my hands before? I can feel it growing across my belly. Maybe I’ll buy bags of frozen peas to numb the itch (I didn’t do that today.) I don’t want to scratch it. It could get worse. Spread more. This coffee is still ridiculously hot. And bad. What’s up with that? Let’s focus on something else besides the rash; I don’t know what else I can do now. (Sometimes I think I am allergic to Buenos Aires.) So the Pollyanna game: I am able to swallow, and I’m eating medialunas, and they gave me three cookies – possibly because they knew the coffee was so bad. Two chocolate dipped hearts and a flower with a yellow jam center. Already ate that one. How about the blonde girl who walked by in really short denim shorts, and you could see her underwear peeking out from her butt cheeks? (“She was really tacky; she’s probably American,” I later told Jenny.) the rash has officially spread to my right thumb. My writing thumb. I press on. My back itches. I’m pretty sure there wasn’t a rash there. Right side, mid-ribcage. Maybe I should take inventory, a photograph. Resist the urge to scratch. Sip your coffee, chew your last medialuna, nibble on your cookies. My feet. Sheesh! They itch like the dickens. I should’ve taken medical terms in Spanish. I’m pretty sure they offered it at UT. Becca Ainsworth took a class like that. But she was Spanish/Pre-Med, so it fits. If I knew I’d be getting tonsillitis and weird rashes in Spanish-speaking countries I’d have considered taking it. I hate that hindsight is 20/20. I don’t even want to finish this last medialuna. Either my taste buds are off, or the tonsillitis diet has left me with a smaller appetite. Or perhaps I’ve killed the “eat everything on the table for only 9 pesos” mentality. But sometimes it’s not even filling enough. Today I think mainly it’s the bad coffee. I’m disappointed in you, Café Tolon. My server today was not the man I chose to call “Bruno” but the older guy, let’s call him “Frank.” Frank has short dark hair, ears that are somewhat long at the top (but not elf-like.) I think he’s got some kind of Indian blood. He somehow resembles a thinner, shorter version of The Chief – again with the Cuckoo’s Nest allusions… Frank is married, wears a thin gold band on his left hand. Bruno is cuter: boyish charm. My feet are so gross. I wonder if I should elevate them. Wedge myself into a V so that the poisons drain into my lymph nodes? It can’t be a reaction to the penicillin, it started before that. What if it is just stress? How do I make myself relax? Listen to Enya or Sade? Drink herbal tea? (How do you make love stay? – Tom Robbins) I hope the laundry ladies don’t get sick from washing the sheets and clothes I wore when I was sick. I swear the window-washer just called Frank “Nico” – what’s with the repetition of names? Actually, the Argentine government has a list of approved names. Lucky for me, “Mary,” “Margaret,” and even “Meg” are all on the list. Although no one can seem to understand/spell Meg. They add an H on the end. I feel very vain saying, “como Meg Ryan.” Also, what good movies has she done lately?

*Dr. Bondi called me on my cell phone a little before 5 pm to tell me that the rash could be due to streptococcus and if I had gotten the culture done (“Which you should have done” “I couldn’t find it” “It’s at French 3000”) he would know. But either way I should up my dosage to three times a day and that could take care of the rash. Let’s all keep our fingers crossed.