I woke up on March 18th and spent a good 10 minutes scratching my own back. It felt awesome. In fact, it felt so awesome that I went ahead and scratched my arms, my legs, and my neck, and it was all so fantastic that for a few minutes I wondered if someone had slipped me a pill of E while I was sleeping. Then I looked in the mirror and saw that my whole body was covered in hives. Tits to toes: HIVES.

Awesome.

Then my hives, Katsumi, Christina, Corey and I all went out to brunch and to the Getty (which, ok, they sell beer there. I love the Getty.)

And although the good company and booze provided an excellent diversion from my itchy misery, I still spent much of the day aching for the moment I’d be able pop my last Ativan and pass the hell out, 30,000 miles in the air and headed for Atlanta.

This is me, looking much more spirited than I felt:

So we get to the airport, right, an hour and a half ahead of time, and the ticket guy tells us that the flight is booked up, we’re not sitting together but we have back-to-back middle seats. And I’m like, you’re fucking kidding me right, there’s no way you sold out this redeye from LA to Boston via Atlanta. And the ticket guy is like, I’ve never been more serious in my life. Katsumi looked like he was about to cry. I scratched at my neck and scowled.

First of all, it’s just plain criminal to pack a flight that takes off at 10pm and lands at 5. It’s just so wrong. Second of all, there’s the goddamn middle seat, which, even on a short flight, is one step away from being strapped to the rack. Third of all, lest we fail to recall, MY WHOLE BODY IS COVERED IN HIVES.

So what’s worse than a redeye flight from LA to Boston? My LIFE, that’s what, from 10pm to 11:30am March 18 into 19th, until I got home to my cat-steeped apartment and sank chin-deep in an oatmeal bath.