The Itch

It was a little prickly there. That kind of spiders-on-the-skin, tangible uneasiness.

It came across me at noonish some weeks ago.

I had a navel orange for lunch. That in itself was odd, because citrus and I have been enemies for years.

My sneakers drew me along the sidewalk while I tossed piece after piece of sweet, vibrant peel over my shoulder.

Then the itch wiggled up under my pant leg and ferreted around a while before settling in on my shoulder.

Maybe it wanted a vantage point. Optimum access to my ear, for secret-spilling and gossip-having.

Yes, behold the All-Knowing Itch!

It was either that, or my shoulder had a decent view.

We’ve spent a little time together since. Sometimes it vanishes when I’m holding a door open, or in the middle of an episode of The Office, or during a math test.

Sometimes it isn’t there for days.

I’ve found that without it I’m nearly as off-edge as I am when it is there.

After all, what is the use of something bothersome? Well, to keep you on your toes.

Nothing that might deserve the title of vexatious?

Well then that, right there, is a lie.

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