It’s hard to have a blog if you live a life where nothing really happens. I could express my deep and complicated ponderings, but my thoughts are hardly that interesting. My few readers would drop this blog like a toasty ham-and-cheese sandwich on a cold linoleum floor if I started writing about what goes on inside my head, rather than the events in my life that occur in the physical world. For example, I was thinking about Canada today. Why is there Canada and the United States, two separate countries? They speak English, don’t they? Why don’t we just sort of mush together into one country, and White-Out the border on all the maps, just so the world is a little less complicated? I’m sure there’s some historical event or war or something that would explain this little itch of a wonder, but still. And there must be something that separates the countries other than language, but still.
Has the sandwich hit the floor yet?
So, like I’ve mentioned, horrible experiences enhance my writing abilities. I had a horrible experience today. (Actually, it’ll be tomorrow when I post this, so make that: I had a horrible experience yesterday.) Nothing funny or interesting, though. I got sick. I entered sixth period with a headache, and it kept getting worse and worse. It was like my head was trapped in a giant pair of tweezers, but, you know, big strong scary tweezers. And then there’s this giant, like a big strong scary one, and he’s squeezing the tweezers with his big strong scary hands. My head almost cracked in half. Then these big waves of heat started pulsing through my body, and I wondered if I was getting the plague. The clock was broken, I was sure. It was mistaking minutes for hours. What should have been forty minutes stretched out into forty centuries. In the last two minutes of class, I got that gross sour taste in my mouth that’s always there before I’m about to throw up. Ew. So I spend the last few minutes of my school day gulping in air like a drowning goldfish, trying to swallow down the ickiness. I must have looked pretty stupid, because goldfish can’t drown. I never did puke, thankfully, but after I walked home the headache got worse, and I went straight upstairs to my bed. I went to sleep right away with my kitty curled up next to me until ten til five. When I woke up, my headache was magically reduced to a very dull throb. I drank tea and did my homework, then ate green beans and potato casserole, took a shower, and went right to bed. Later the “heat-wave” thing came back. Then it went away, and now I have a headache again. I don’t know if I’ll post this tomorrow morning. I don’t know if I’ll go to school. I did take some Advil, or Tylenol, or aspirin, or something. I’m actually not quite sure what they (being the little pills) were, but hopefully they were some kind of painkiller. Ugh. Being sick is so not majestic. I don’t even know why I picked that word. It’s a nice word.
You know what’s not a nice word. Barf. It actually sounds like an actually actual barfing person. Whenever somebody says “barf,” this image comes to mind of a person leaning over a toilet with greenish gunk spewing out of their mouth. I can hear that nasty wet sound of
Okay, never mind.
I hope this headache goes away. I hope you’re all doing just majesticly.