My Worst Skinemy

That's going to be the name of one of the scenes of in my heartbreaking One Man Show. Or perhaps a chapter in my long-awaited memoir. It's more of an audio pun, I suppose -- the "skin-o-me" is my enemy. Skinemy. Yeah, needs more work.

Anyway, I don't mind the snow in Chicago. I freakin' love snow. I never get tired of it. (Secret: really good, waterproof boots.) We've had one of the snowiest winters on record (so far) and I still want more, and I still get excited every time the flakes come down.

I don't even mind the cold so much, now that I've learned the secret there. Tights. Or thermals. I guess that's more manly. But I keep those on anytime the temps fall below freezing. And fleece. Lots and lots of layers of fleece. You wear thermals on top and bottom, maybe some flannel-lined pants, t-shirt, wool sweater, fleece vest or fleece hoodie, wool coat, gloves, gator, scarf, ear thing, and there you go.

So all of that is fine. What kills me, though, is the desert-like dryness. I grew up in the mid-Atlantic, so I am used to humidity, even in the winter. When people say it's muggy here in the summer, they've clearly never been to DC or Florida or New Orleans. Even in the winter, with the ocean, it's pretty moist there.

Here it's like a kiln. And it dries and cooks and hardens my skin, severely aggravating my already-intense allergies and sensitivities. It's been even worse this winter because last year we started further tapering the deadly medications I take to control these issues, which was tremendous progress. But now I think I'm going to have to backtrack. My face and eyes have absolutely been on fire the past few weeks and yesterday I felt like a damned invalid. 

But I guess the good thing about getting older is, choosing short-term comfort over long-term health becomes less and less of an issue -- you know, since the long-term gets shorter every day.