Well, I don't mean to brag here, but someone feels a little less likely to start vomiting blood! My post-Mexico trip sickness lasted for a long time and was very, very unpleasant, but it didn't kill me. Take that as a lesson, international assassins: the only way to get to me is through explosives and wild animal attacks. You can scratch giving me the plague right off that list.
Last Thursday was like the perfect storm when it came to that crap. I had a big test that day, so I had stayed up pretty late studying. By the time I got to bed, I was pretty worn out and so I expected to go right to sleep. Not the case. I felt kind of weird, and I could barely get to sleep because of it. When I finally woke up for class, I felt terrible, probably the worst I've felt in a few years. Really, if I trusted my cat with fire arms, I would've told her to put me down, Old Yeller style. Nevertheless, because of the test, I had to go in to school. It wasn't until I got to the bus stop that I realized it was 40 degrees and raining, and that I had no jacket. By the time the bus came 20 minutes later, I had begun climbing inside the garbage can so I could die with some dignity.
When the doors to the bus opened, I could've burst out into song. In fact, I started to, but when I tried to field a volunteer to accompany me on the harpsichord, a transvestite stabbed me in the neck with a rusty corkscrew. Things continued going downhill until the actual test began, on which the only thing I got correct was the first letter of my first name. By then, the hallucinations had set in and I was proposing marriage to the pencil sharpener. Somehow, I made it into work afterwards for roughly 45 seconds, before giving up entirely and going home. In light of all of that, the fact that I made it back home with my pants on counts as a triumph.Posted by Cody at February 28, 2005 6:01 PM