A Rash, Neruda, 8 Tacos

I don't care for the thought of being allergic to home. The past two times I've come home, I've broken out in a rash on my chest and back. Very itchy. Very dry. The temporary solution? Benadryl (well, Waldryl). The eventual solution? That's a conundrum.

As I wait for the antihistamine to lull me into the deepest medicated slumber, I'm reminded that home is such a remedy. I desperately need this. I'm home with my family and best friend, and it's soothing. Being surrounded by familiarity and true unconditional love has a way of making bad things seem a little less tragic. And who can't use a little less tragedy?