I've decided that there's nothing on Earth that is more instantly satisfying than scratching a mosquito bite. To give in to the nearly uncontrollable urge. To scratch despite knowing that the ensuing satisfaction is cheap and fleeting. To go through with it even though you know full well that there will be consequences.
And there are consequences. Like nearly all cheap fixes, the gratification that comes from scratching that mosquito bite is not without repercussions. As if the swelling, burning, internal bleeding, and bruising weren't bad enough, scratching the bite will only make it itch more. It is a vicious self-perpetuating cycle, not unlike that of the hopeless crack addict, and I am caught in its vice-like jaws.
I have this mosquito bite on my right ankle and all day long it's been nagging, teasing, tempting me to scratchscratchscratch it. I can barely concentrate on my work as it is taking all of my conscious will power to overcome the urge. Unfortunately, I don't know how much longer I can hold out against the histimine-onslaught. I think I'm just going to go ahead and indulge by satisfying my appetite for scraching this goddam bug bite.
As Ned Flanders once said, "Mmmm, sure are fun to scratch. Satisfying."
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