On Tuesday night, sources reported that Abby had a relaxing evening planned before anxiety and the internet joined forces to fuck it all up. “I was going to spend the night unwinding and enjoying myself. Then I noticed that the skin on my elbow was a little bit irritated so I said fuck it, I NEED to get to the bottom of this rash right now,” she confirmed.
At first, Abby only intended to do quick a Google search of her skin irritation symptoms before spending some time decompressing with a candlelit bubble bath. “I mean, finding time to address my health counts as self-care, right? I had to take action by seeing what some dubious sources had to say about this problem,” she reasoned.
Four frantic hours later, she was still combing the lurid depths of WebMD. “So, I’ve narrowed it down to either eczema or scabies,” Abby proclaimed after reading another article titled “Rash 101,” complete with gruesome close-up photos and upsetting graphic descriptions.
“Wouldn’t it be crazy if I had scabies?” pondered Abby, who was now very tired and completely disheveled. However, in her delirium, she was excited about feeling like some kind of amateur dermatologist. “I felt like shit after sacrificing my me-time to do hours of questionable medical research, but it was kind of cool. I was piecing symptoms together like one of those haggard yet determined doctors in an Untold Stories of the ER medical mystery reenactment!”
Meanwhile, the nice bubble bath she had prepared cooled down to room temperature. The fun bath bomb she planned on enjoying was no more than a weird film on the lukewarm water, and her candles had burned down into smoldering stumps.
The barely noticeable red patch on her elbow cleared up the next morning. She looked forward to her next self-care night, which would probably turn into time spent agonizing over why all of her friends seem to be buying houses right now while she is nowhere near that point in her life.