London – you slag

There is no medical cure for neurodermatitis, you can only control it the best you can. If you’re lucky it’ll disappear via intense meditation, happiness and other make-believe techniques. After thirteen years of coping with this stressed-induced chronic nuisance, I would say I’ve been controlling it well, although Londoner water has deteriorated my aquagenic pruritus. But well, there are cetirizine tablets, hydrocortisone cream, urea cream, etc.
When I was suffering severely from dust mite allergy I underwent a so-called desensitization, meaning I received monthly injections at the dermatologist’s. That process took three years – now I’m no longer heavily allergic to dust mites. Should I go through the same process again to get rid of my allergy against dander and summer (alias pollen)? I really liked the injections, except that the swellings were a little bit sore. I wonder whether they do the same for latex. Latex could probably kill me like a wasp’s sting could kill others.
They say the reason why my skin and blood are so unfortunate is because, as a child I didn’t infect myself enough with nature – a type of love-making I failed to immerse in.
It isn’t true. My sister and I had spent a lot of time outside cycling in the backyard, hiding under cherry trees, taunting ants…
I may have inherited hay fever from my mum, but no one else in the family is allergic to dust or latex apart from me. According to my latest allergy test from last summer I’m also allergic to guinea pigs.
I should have pursued the career as a dermatologist.

I read a brilliant book called ‘Direct Red’, which tells the story of a female surgeon. I got anxious, because on the emotional level my novel is kind of similar except that my protagonist is insane (apparently). I needed to gather scenes of surgeries, hospital lives and doctor & patient relationships. I’ve been spreading myself thin with secondary readings. I would like to return to fiction now.
Overall my protagonist is coping well for now and so am I. After rewriting the entire opening, I feel that she and I are both in balance. For some reason the parallels evoke morbid images at the back of my head. I assume they are reminders of what is yet to come.
After all, a sense of determination and confidence engulfed me today. It could have been the influence of the olive green Thames; watching beautiful flats reminding me of my wish to buy my family a beautiful house by the sea.
I felt smitten.

Ah, Wong Kar Wai movies – his ideas of unrequited love suck me in every time!
In the movies females cry genuinely, whereas men have their apartments flooded instead – just another way of shedding tears.
Internal monologues are to be heard, but whichever word that I utter in my heart – it seems to fall on deaf ears.
A stupid infatuation occurs just once a year and if I’m unlucky, it lasts for twelve months. And like Trent I wonder about all the might-have- could-have-beens. In the end you can only write a little tale about it and keep it to yourself. I express love in a soliloquy and then it continues dwelling in the shadows of oblivion. It’s easiest that way. You want something you can never have.

I’m still not keen on Londoners; many of them take a lot for granted.

But hey London, you slag – we’re almost one.

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