It Only Takes One

I have no one to blame but myself. I wasn't going to go to class--I felt so horrible, but I thought I'd be a good little student and go to class despite being sick. BIG mistake. And it wasn't a mistake for normal reasons, either. Let me straighten something out first, before I start my saga.

I hate bees. I HATE bees. I pretty much despise insects of any kind (except the flying lizards in Florida--they're so cute!) but I have a deep fear of bees. This is kind of odd considering I've only been stung once in my life, but I do not like the little suckers at all. If I see one I pretty much scream like the girl I am and run in the other direction. I have anyone around me kill them, and if no one is home I would rather go outside and wait than stay inside with that creature.

So, anyway, being the good student that I am I went to class. It's a hour and a half class, so I'm sitting there. All of a sudden I get this itch in my throat, and I know I have to cough. However, I also know that if I start coughing I won't be able to stop. Since we were in the middle of a discussion about a rather gross novel, I didn't want to be the one to interrupt with my coughing spasms. So I'm sitting there fidgeting and stretching my head back and forth rather subtly, trying not to draw attention to myself. Luckily I sit in the back row, and the guy who usually sits next to me wasn't there.

So I'm stretching, when I feel something on the top of my head. I reach my hand up and feel something--I thought it was a crumpled up piece of paper or something. So I pull it off and look at it--and then yelled. Screamed is probably the more accurate word, but suffice it to say the entire building heard. It was a bee. A BIG bee. A bee that, given the forty-degree weather, shouldn't be alive right now. It flew out of my hand, and I started swatting. The movements caused my coughing itch to come back, and I started coughing uncontrollably.

So, there I am, the entire class staring at me like I'm a complete idiot, my teaching laughing, me swatting at the bee that's conveniently flown up into the ceiling light, and coughing so hard I can't stop. I couldn't deal with it--my face was bright red--I don't think there's a color for the shades I was turning. I left the class, and I'm sure they heard me coughing down the hall to the bathroom. Because of my embarassment I didn't return for about ten minutes.

When I finally gathered up my courage to walk back into that room, the teacher looks at me and cracks a grin: "get stung, huh?" I had to admit that, no, I didn't get stung--just got touched by one. He starts laughing again--I'm glad I could amuse him. I sat down and class continued.

So what happened for the rest of the class? Beats me--I spent it watching that bee fly around the room. Luckily it didn't come near me--it was buzzing on the left side of the room and up on the ceiling. Yup, I'm pretty sure my classmates will never talk to me again, but hey--at least I didn't get stung!

I found out later that last week, the classroom next door had been closed for a few days due to a--get this--bee infestation. Well, apparently the infestation didn't end, it just moved next door. And wouldn't you know it, I have two classes in this cursed room? Isn't it my luck? I was on the lookout in class today.

And, I have the class in which the embarassing incident occured tomorrow. Can I face them again? Everyone knows now what I'm scared of in life--I'm so glad it's almost the weekend.

I hate bees.

Sick

Runny nose. The sniffles. A pounding headache. Stomach cramps. The nagging cough. Feeling like I’m going to throw up at the sight of any chocolate concoction. (What are the odds of that ever happening?) I think I’ve got it–the classic signs of being sick. I am sick. I hate being sick. I am the biggest baby on earth when I’m sick. I just want to crawl under the covers and stay there for about twenty years.

And after such a great weekend! Maybe not great by a lot of people's standards, but great by mine. We celebrated three birthdays--my mom, cousin, and brother. My family gathered together to actually be together and celebrate as a family. It sounds so geeky now, but I can't even express what a great time we all had. Now don't get me wrong--my family-well, they-well, they're all nuts. We can drive each other up the wall, but since we hardly see each other anymore it was nice to catch up.

During dinner I just sat and watched everyone. We combined two tables and were all sitting around it. There was a hodgepodge of conversations going on, ranging from baseball (we're all big Yankees fans, so we were all severely disappointed this year), to heating costs this winter, to home improvements, to my uncle's heartburn and what he could actually cook to serve for Thanksgiving this year (it's a long story that only a few select friends have heard). I was just watching them, these people I haven't seen in what seems like forever. My dad had his arm around my mom, and they were both leaning forward talking to my grandmother: it was nice to see them like that, just at ease with each other at that moment. My brother, sister, and cousin were deep in conversation about the said Yankees losing streak--they hadn't seen each other in over two months and so were arguing also about that, and how they should get together to jam (their words, not mine--we're a musically inclined family.) My aunt and uncle were talking to my other aunt and uncle with their foster child. A friend and his girlfriend also showed up for the celebration, and they were talking to everyone about their lives.

It was just...right. It felt right. It felt good, just reconnecting with them. Seeing us all get along. With so many things going on, at that point in time--that moment, at least--all was right with the world. Nothing else mattered but what was going on right then. It was great, but it made me sad, too. That may have been one of our last, if not our last, big get together. So much has changed. We don't see each other outside of holidays, and even now we don't celebrate all holidays together. We're lucky to see each other at Christmas, even, since we're off visiting other relatives or friends, working, or just staying and having an at-home Christmas celebration.

But I digress. Besides the party, I also thought of the perfect birthday gift--finally--for my mom, one I can't wait to give her. I had such a great time Sunday I actually didn't mind coming back to school Monday morning. I didn't even get road rage. Did I get mad being stuck behind two dump trucks going thirty-five miles an hour in a fifty-five mph speed zone? No--I waited until the appropriate time, and then five cars, including me, passed them. Did I yell when one car would not stop tailgating me for half an hour, refusing to pass even when presented with ample opportunity? No. I was in a good mood still getting to school.

That's when things tooks a downturn. I had been sick a couple of times over the wonderful weekend, but then it became full-blown. All my symptoms at the beginning of this blog came at once. I am sick.

It's going to be obvious--I just blanked on the real reason for writing this blog. I truly did have a point when I started--it just got lost along the way. So, until next time--I'm going to go crawl under my covers. If anyone feels bad, I'm going to reiterate past entries and suggest that you send the M&M's and Diet Pepsi my way. That's my kind of sick food. Just remember--send in bulk!

Breaktime!

What a week. I need a break. It's been a...well, horrible is kind of an understatement. I think everyone is just so overwhelmed with work and school that they need to get away. I'm so excited about this long weekend! I plan to do nothing but fun things--see my family, shop, just relax and do nothing...hopefully it will be as great as I hope it'll be.

And I'm so proud of my friend Renee! She's such a diplomat. Don't you hate it when you work in groups? You're told you will get the same grade, so others in your group slack off, expecting you to do all the work, because they know that you want a high grade and will do all the work if necessary to get that high grade. Well, it turns out that sometimes school justice does get dispensed: the teacher gave all the other groups the same grade, but the group where one person did all the work got different grades. Congrats--you earned that grade! And now the other members of the group are mad, because "they all should have gotten the same grade--we earned it!" It's great.

This is kind of an evil thing to be happy about--I mean, three people just got a bad grade on a project. But karma goes around--if you don't do the work, why should you get the grade? On the other hand--I'm sorry, I'm really out of it right now. How's this for a good week? I'm pretty sure I bombed a paper, failed a midterm, and got a paper back that was a lot less than the grade I was expecting. See why I want to go home?

I get to see my friends, family...hopefully the rain will hold out. The weather definitely fits my mood. This is a dumb blog, but I'm so out of it I don't care. I need to get off this campus. If anyone wants to cheer me up, feel free to send the five pound bag of M&M's (available in your local Sam's Club or specialty bulk store) to my room--if next week is like this week, I will definitely need them.