Itching

I'm itching for a visit to the library.

I'm itching to feel every blow of the aircon whizz past the silence, hear only the flipping of books, scribbles of pens.

I'm itching to get start on my 'project'.

My hands are itching. They're itching to scratch my itching ears, for which I must resist. And I can't take certain seafood, which is making me feel deprived. I shall resist.

So does my head, because the road ahead of me is as hazy as that of a swamp from a horror movie.

My feet are itching. They've been walking up and down in uncomfortable heels.

Itch. Itch. Itch.

My tummy too. It calls for lunch. GROWL.I have to get back to you later.