Effing heck ...

I've lost the lottery.

Not that lottery. I lose that lottery every time I buy a ticket, and I've quit hoping. You're welcome, state of Colorado. I'm sure my $2 makes a huge difference.

I've lost the genetic lottery.

The children of carriers of psoriasis have a 50 percent chance of having the gene.

I'm the 50 percent chance. I've seen what this crap has done to my dad's body, and I'm the farthest thing from excited. The doctor said there's a(n unverifiable) chance that what I've got is as far as it'll go, but there's no way of predicting what it will or won't do.

Lucky me. Chuck a few more steroids into my pharmaceutical drawer (yeah - there's a drawer). My drug-related vernacular is full of tongue-twisters like "fluticasone" and "clobetasol" and "propionate" and another new one added today that I won't attempt to pronounce or even spell out of fear that it will come out either as a swear word or something offensive in a foreign language.

In better news, I have some of the most "unexciting" moles my dermatologist has ever seen, and quitting my previous job five years ago was the best thing I could have ever done for another skin problem. "That one's strictly stress-related. Your hands look fantastic." And the psoriasis, as far as any of us know, is not accompanied by the far-worse arthritis that can sometimes come with it. And steroid ointments don't expire, no matter what the expiration date on the tube crimp says. So that saved me about $60.