Today might really be the day I blow that vein in my forehead.
Law school is one of those places in which every day has the potential to be a minefield of people you hate and the experiences that make you hate them. And. You. Can't. Escape.
The "sinusitis" will not be allowed to be called "sinus infection" for another six days, at which point I will be written a prescription for antibiotics that will wipe out the misery I've felt for four days in a little under 16 minutes, after, of course, I've infected everyone I know. Thanks, HealthCenter! Meanwhile, I sound like a foghorn every time I blow my nose. Seriously, my friend Emily laughs every time I blow my nose because she says it sounds like a cartoon.
Boyfriend-the-priest-to-be (hereinafter Priest) pities me in my weakened condition. He shows this concern by allowing me to carry two bags of garbage to his dumpster in exchange for my ride to school. I am convinced that I smell like garbage, but cannot smell it. I try to surreptitiously smell myself, remembering that I can't inhale sneakily only when I make a snarf noise that startles even me.
Gnome Hooker is lurking in the hall on my way to my first class. I am horrified to see that despite the fact that her face looks like one of the clocks in that Dali painting, she has on makeup and clothes that match and might look better than me. I am relieved to find that she has not highlighted her hair to match mine as Nikki and I previously suspected. Or, she dyed it back over break. Whatever, she's stopped wearing the glasses that mysteriously match mine.
I stir my Emergen-C into a cup of what is allegedly drinking water from downstairs wonder how something that fizzes like toxic goo is supposed to make me feel better.
A couple of minutes later, I'm back in the hall, maybe I'm making an appointment, maybe I'm seeking Kleenex and come face to face with Professor Badonkadonk, who ignored emails I sent for two months before asking me why I took so long to ask her for an appointment. I go into Career Services to see what kind of neat toner cartridges they have for me to drink.
And on the way back, that's right, Gnome Hooker. I yawn, looking something the Kraken before it eats Johnny Depp. This day just keeps getting better and better.
Email message: From: Princess Guard Dog: Can you do all this work and get all this stuff set up for the event I'm planning with no input from anyone? I know that I don't work, or have school, but I really have my hands full with making the poster!
Lecture Transcript: Clearly the business students who smoke outside our door don't understand English, or they would read the sign and smoke on the steps, 25 feet away from the building. You know who I'm talking about. Dude, did Professor Kapes just bash the Asian Smoker Mafia? Rock on, Kapes!
Ok, that part kind of rocked.
Voicemail: Princess Guard Dog: Um, did you get that stuff done yet? I said by the end of the week, but what I meant was, today. Well, right now. Thanks!
Email: Miraculously, after an email intervention from a higher power, Badonkadonk has time to see me. But she's out of the country until two weeks from today. Um, then who the fuck did I just see in the hallway?
Text Message: Haven't you done that stuff yet? Didn't you get the email and the voicemail?
I start my list of tasks, trying to be helpful at least, I've juuuust started dialing when:
Text Message: What about now?
I grab the heavy duty stapler, wondering if I could puncture my skull with it.
I call a friend, who is also planning this event. I am about to explain my frustration, which is not with her, when someone else chimes in. Ah, we have a conference call! SUPRISE! Fuck My Life.
In an uncharacteristic display of kindness, I buy cups of tea for myself and Priest, who also has a case of the sniffles. My lid is not securely fastened. Hot tea scalds my hand and the 1L next to me starts snickering. I turn to him and say "Yeah, yuk it up, Chuckles."
And he does.
(919): What do you bring to an...
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