My skin comes alive on its own, rippling inward, backward, up my neck with a suddenness that makes me stop and pinch my eyes shut. I breathe through my nose and hold my wrist to my forehead, feeling for the feverish warmth I know is there.
Can’t get sick - not now, I tell myself (knowing there never is a good time to be sick.) Three jobs, two tutoring students – and when am I ever going to be able to make more pottery, at this rate?
I wait till my skin recoils to its usual state of affairs, and make a beeline for the medicine cabinet.