No, I haven't flown to Nairobi to begin my career as a witch doctor.

No, I haven't been taken prisoner by the Gestapo.

No, I haven't wondered into a jungle of cannibals.

No, I haven't been savagely attacked by my six cats.

Right! That was fun. I haven't updated this week at all because....well, my entire existance has been worth shit this week and the very idea of sitting down and typing on a computer translates to me as "Get in your car with no gas and fly to the moon."

Yesterday at school I wasn't in top form, as my peers can vouch for, so I was sitting out of dance class....sleeping in English...that sort of thing. But by fourth hour (drama) we had to go down into the basement that was approximately 11 degrees. I was wearing two coats, a scarf, and gloves, and I was freeeezing.

So me and some others wandered into a dressing room on the stage that was quite toasty. I, at this point, being very relaxed, took it upon myself to make myself comfortable with my surroundings.

So I passed out on the floor.

Now, I didn't feel like passing out. I don't know whether it was the constant back and forth of cold-hot-cold-hot, or whether I was just sleep deprived...but I slept. And it was good. Visions of frosted grapes danced in my head or whatever the fuck it is.

When I awoke about 10 minutes later, my drama teacher was standing over me and saying things like, "Oh my god, is she DEAD?! I can't let somebody DIE in my class!" So I waved my beanie around in the air to signify what very little life I felt I had left. And of course, everywas said things like:

"What's wrong with you?"

"Are you okay?"

"What's your name?"

"Does your head hurt?"

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"God you look like shit."

That last thing was from Sarah.

And except for the fact I said my name was Rhoda Morganstern, everything seemed to be okay, but they had called my mother to come get me anyway.

So I leave, and it's on to the doctor's office.

I really really wish that I could say I didn't mind having to go to the doctor, because you know, I really wanted to get well soon. But that would be bullshit. I would rather suffer and bleed my eyes out before I went to a doctor.

And after waiting about thirty minutes during which I took another "nap," he felt that he was so inclined to invite us back into his little world of Sterilized Everyfuckingthing.

And to my great surprise (not), he informed me that I, in fact, had the flu and he prescribed me two drugs to begin taking, and one was almost straight penicillin.

That's fine and dandy...la la la...

Except that when I took the medicine ten minutes later I immediatly began to hallucinate and pass out, and my mother said, in all her genius...

"Maybe you're allergic to penicillin."

MAYFUCKINGBE, MA.

Back to doctor's office while I'm practically having seizures in the backseat of the car, curled up into a fetal position and praying for death.

So I got a shot and a new medcine to begin taking (without penicillin this time, we've learned our lesson), which is great except that I won't recover as fast.

And despite my obvious condition of lying on death's doormat and repeatedly ringing the doorbell, she still dragged me to the theater last night for a show. So Jessica entertained me with Tarot cards and all was well, thankfully. But I have to go to two more shows today and I really don't see how I am going to survive without enteraining myself in odd ways that do nothing but drain my energy and ability to fight the stupid fucking flu virus, OKAY?!?

Side effects of one of the medicines I'm taking says I may be irritable. Heh.

And if you think I must be better because I crawled over to my computer and typed out this long entry about my sickness, think not. I'm still disembodiedly floating somewhere between life and death, and the idea of death seems pretty enticing at this point.

If I survive the weekend I will let you know.

© alexa

The counter keeps breaking and pissing me off, so NO MORE COUNTER! Mwahaha!