I was Ganymede of Galileo, not of Zeus, protected by a battered skin in pits from disease of the body and glacier scars dragging across the skin from disease of the mind.

Scratch the insect bite until you break skin; the itch has now gone. The insect has not. You will wake up again, unremarkable memories from the previous day purged and censored, senses recalibrated to do it all again.

The insect has bitten me once more during the night and I have scratched in my sleep.