I feel a little itch and a tiny, not-at-all-red bump. Microscopic. Hmmm must have gotten a bug bite. Whatever. Time for karate.
This bug bite is growing. Well, must be a bad one. This has to be a spider bite. No ant bite can hurt like this. Is it in my bed? There are like 9 "bites". Shoot it must be in my bed. Oh my gosh. I am changing all the sheets right now. Immediately. Is it a black widow? In my bed? I CAN'T BE SLEEPING WITH A BLACK WIDOW!
Oh dear. This is not looking good. This is really red. And holy cow it hurts. There has to be nerve venom in there. This is extremely painful. Here, let me show my pharmacist friend and ask for steroid creams. Wow, this thing is hyper sensitive to touch. Why is there fire in my skin?
WHAT FRESH HELL IS THIS? What have I done to deserve this? Is there any way I can walk the kids to school in a bra so not a single thread can even gently whisp across the surface of this molten lava releasing monster. There's a chance this might not be a spider bite. I should probably see a doctor. But really, it's obviously nothing serious or I'd already be dead. I don't want to be a whiner. I'm supposed to go to nurse school. I can't be that idiot that shows up at the doctor because of a pesky spider bite that is not affecting respiration, heart rate or blood pressure. It'll be fine. I'll be fine.
Uncontrollable screaming into the pillow. Invisible devil fairies heating long and large needles in fire and then sticking them into my side where the muscles are obviously necrotizing because nothing less serious could ever possibly hurt this much. Probably should see a doctor. Maybe this is not spider bites. Eh, it's after closing time Friday. I'll call Monday.
Day Six and Seven
Well, this is how I go out. This is how it ends. I die of a weird rash/spider bite. Fitting.
Mom suggests shingles. Can't be shingles, it's not big enough. No. definitely not shingles. I'm not 70. Mom really thinks it's shingles. Three minutes on WebMD in the middle of the night: son of a nutcracker. Definitely shingles.
Hi, I need an appointment this morning? Nothing til the afternoon. Boo. I have to go help with pumpkin day at school. Spends two hours lifting a pumpkin in and out of a bucket of water and repeating, "No, just circle sink or float. No, right here. Right. Here. F-f-f-float. No that's sink. Actually, it's fine. It's fine. Good job." When. Is. this. Over????? I NEED TO SCRATCH! Finally. Considers catheter to prevent moving as it disturbs the devil in my side. Time to go trick or treating!
"Well Dr Gupta, I have this rash..." Lifts shirt for 1/14 of a second. That's shingles. Yep that's shingles. How long have you had it? 9 days? Why didn't you come before? A spider bite? You thought it was a spider bite? I burst into tears whining that it hurts and I haven't slept in three days and also I might be going crazy. Feeling a little yellow wallpaper-y. Promises of codeine. Home. Sits for 11 hours on the couch while demanding my children bring me fresh ice packs and make themselves sandwiches for dinner. Codeine good. Codeine friend.
Kinder Farm Field Trip Day... hooray? I should cancel. I cannot cancel. This is the only one I will be able to go on this year. Must go. CodeineCodeineCodeine. 1,456,238 screaming children somehow crammed into one bus. I swear I can feel the reverb of every scream in that rash. Sometimes I miss teaching. This reminds me of all the times I do NOT miss teaching. At the farm. Why am I here? Idiot, idiot, idiot. Smile big! We are having so much farm fun!! Good, it's hot. They won't know why you're really sweating. Done. No kids, you can't come home early. See you after school. Back to couch nest. Couch nest good. Codeine good. Ice pack good. Westworld actually not very good...
Is that? Could it be? Hope? A scab has appeared. One small ray of light in a dark and pitiful world. The end is nigh! Every gospel song I overheard sung at Walker Memorial Baptist Church comes rushing back to me.
Days Twelve On
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me a slow but steady decrease in random stabbing, burning, muscle crippling pain. The gift that keeps on giving.
And that's how I died of shingles. The end.
Saturday, January 2, 2016
Let’s Reflect, Shall We?
2016 rolled in like thunder with me dancing 'til dawn at a massive rave and making out with strangers snug on my couch binge watching One Tree Hill ‘til three am and downing twelve Rice Krispy treats. Yeah, I said twelve. Wanna make something of it? No one can ever say I don’t know how to party. I think one of the real high points of the year was my begrudgingly declined invitation to join the honor society for my ONLINE COMMUNITY COLLEGE. First of all, let us all reflect quietly on the fact that this actually exists. It’s like the grown-up(ish) version of giving trophies for participation! Since, unfortunately, I was unable to attend the banquet and unable to stomach the idea of actually joining, I thought here would be a most appropriate place to post my letter of decline.
Dear Unnamed Online Community College,
I received the invitation to join your illustrious honor society. I must say, it was a real heart stopper. As in, I wanted to die. I frequently like to be reminded that I, like so many sad, repressed suburban mommy bloggers, am continuing to not live up to my potential. I researched your society and found that among the current and former members are listed several of my own personal heroes; that character from South Park who lives in his mom’s basement, the bus driver from Billy Madison, anyone who wears a trench coat in Phoenix in summer, Lennie Small, creeps everywhere, just to name a few. My first reaction was of course to immediately accept. Happily, I took a few moments to reflect on a couple of experiences with your school that left me to hesitate.
Being so proud of my enrollment it may come as a surprise to you that actually the reason I enrolled at Unnamed Online Community College was because it would be very difficult for me to actually go to a class. As a working, single mother of three preschool-aged children the child care cost of going to school would be significantly more than tuition would ever be. While enrolled in a particularly poor class I found it necessary to attempt to see a tutor at your library. I drove the 45 minutes to the library, my three children in tow. Upon arriving I was informed that no children were allowed in the library. I had been on the library website several times to find out tutoring schedules etc and nowhere did it mention this. Now, I understand that you don’t want loud obnoxious kids running all over the place but I had brought the ipad and figured I could set them up in a corner near me and they wouldn’t bother anyone. Pinkie swear. The man working the check-in was kind enough, after several disgusted comments and looks of disdain, to let me know that he would let it go this time but the kids would not be allowed back again. Imagine my surprise when I found that the tutoring was done in single glass rooms (one person per room) with closing doors where, even if my kids were those pretentious terrors from Real Housewives of New York, no one would hear them.
After being humiliated by the desk clerk for not psychically knowing that kids were not allowed, aggravated that there was no trust that parents would know whether their children would be able to behave in a library for an hour, and generally frustrated by the course, I presented the two problems I came with to the tutor. His response? “I hoped you weren’t going to ask about that one.” That’s right, he didn’t even know how to do them. I suffered through all that humiliation for ABSOLUTELY NOTHING. And wasted an afternoon too! This is just one of those heartwarming experiences you should really feature in your marketing brochures!
Before attending and throughout my time taking courses through your prestigious institution I have been oft reminded by staff, emails and marketing materials of the tremendous amount I am saving by choosing this particular school. And in many instances it was quite true. I have taken several courses at your school were perfectly good. Heck, I got 100% on my calculus final and felt like I had learned a tremendous amount. But the more courses I took both at Unnamed Online Community College and at other colleges the more I realized that there were some costs that perhaps you were forgetting to feature in your cost breakdowns when comparing to other colleges. The first is books and course materials. You have come up with an ingenious partnership with a large textbook publisher to “save” me money. They publish special, institution-specific versions of common textbooks that are “less expensive” than the full version. Retailers such as Amazon, where I can find most of my textbooks for other college courses used and at great discount, don’t generally have any to offer. So, I get to buy all brand new books, including online codes that seem to only be actually used in about half the courses, and then keep them because it’s impossible to resell them. This has been fantastic for building my useless book collection. And, given that your bookstore will not buy them back or sell used versions I also get to feel that special warmth of giving back to giant multinational corporations in need. God bless you and the beautiful work you.
I’d like to thank you for the offer to join your society of great honor but I feel I have to decline at this time. Perhaps next year, fingers crossed that I am once again invited, I will be able to pay for a babysitter in order to attend the initiation banquet, especially since there will be free food (as mentioned multiple times in the eVite).
Pathetic Student On Her Couch
Pathetic Student On Her Couch
PS: Please don’t read this because I still need a couple pre-requisites before I can apply to a different program and heaven knows I am just hypocritical enough to continue to go through you for all courses that I deem unimportant to my future.
***Editors Note (hahaha we all know I don't edit a thing): This was written back in the summer of 2015
I had my first day of real-life, in-person community college. Yep, that’s right. 31 year old me is dragging her exhausted butt to Chandler Gilbert Community College to sit in a room with twenty eighteen year olds and learn about the immense mysteries of biology. I get the thrill of doing this four days a week, five hours a day, for five weeks. (Imagine that last part choked out in a strangled whisper). Why I signed up for this unique form of torture I’m still not entirely sure, but I did. I suspect there are few things that make you feel old in the way listening to adorably naive conversations about majors and grad school and futures can. Please shoot me. I am begging you.
Firstly, I had to wake up at six a.m. Now, I realize that most of you, being functioning members of society capable of maintaining a job, mortgage etc, already wake up at six or even earlier. I, in stark contrast to all responsible adults, stay up and work until midnight or one a.m. every night and have been doing so for about two years. I usually wake up around seven thirty. Six a.m. is not my friend. Six a.m. is the evil succubus of my already starving soul.
But, despite my overly dramatic whining, I got there on time, of course, always unfashionably early. Myself and everyone waiting for the class had to do the requisite sitting outside the classroom silently while awkwardly peeking at each other, but not saying anything until the door was opened. My antisocial tendencies were in full swing, really supporting me in that moment. When the door finally was opened, this terrifying choice was thrust upon me. I had to pick my seat! I forgot about the pressure!! I mean, it’s not like you can change seats. Ever. Sure, there’s technically no seating chart, but can you imagine the chaos that would entail, after everyone has chosen if you then change and kick someone else out and they in turn kick another someone else out? Feelings would be hurt. Wars would be fought. Oh, and there was added pressure because the classroom is a lab classroom so wherever you sit, the people who sit with you are your lab group. They hold your grade in their annoyingly unwrinkled, elastin-filled palms. And faces. Ohhh, they’re just so young. I picked a seat at the front table. I’m a touch blind and more than a touch neurotic and controlling which means the front is really the only option. I was thinking, “Hey whoever sits here will do so because they are kind of a goody-goody like me, a conscientious student or whatever, so we should be good.”
No. Nope. Turns out, for the most part whoever sits there sits there because they are late and there’s nowhere else to sit. Awesome. Did not see that coming. But there wasn’t much time to think about it before we got a very beautiful lecture regarding not being a freaking child. It was a solid 45 minutes discussing, in-depth, the fact that you have to come to class. You can’t sit and text on your phone all through class. You shouldn’t be working on other things, other classes or whatever, during this class. If you miss class, it’s like missing a week of school both lecture and lab because it’s a fast-paced course. So you have to come to class. You need to bring your lab book because that is where you write your labs. And you need to come to class.
I was either listening to this diatribe the whole time or slamming my head against the table repeatedly. I can’t tell which because they both would have felt the exact same. The good news was that my worst fears were allayed, there would be no out-of-class group work. I don’t think I am alone in my genuine loathing of group work in general, but particularly projects or out-of-class garbage. Felt like I really dodged a bullet there.
We do, however, still have to do all labs as a group and this first one was… how do I put this… telling. It was a very difficult lab called “Measuring”. It required an extensive array of upper-level thinking skills. I mean, we had to figure out how to weigh 20 ounces of water AND measure the diameter of a penny in inches, centimeters AND millimeters. Not just any joe off the street can handle that kind of pressure. And, unfortunately, some in my lab group cracked under the pressure. For one kid, who we will call Curly, measuring in inches was totally doable but centimeters, on the same tiny clear ruler, were too much to handle. He had to pass the torch to someone else to get that done. Found out later he’s planning on going to med school. So watch out all you future doctors, the real competition is rarin to go.
There is one other girl in my group who is competent. We’re rounded out with our final member, a male ginger who just graduated high school the week before and seems nice enough, though a little intimidated by the change from high school class to college class.
I’m glad there’s no chance of them ever reading this.
There is one other very important aspect of college, or youth, that I had clearly forgotten or perhaps purposely erased from my memory, and that is how social it is! When we finally had a break I went out to eat a hard boiled egg (no food in the lab) and suddenly someone was asking me where the library was. Why do I look like I know where the library is? I don’t know where the library is. I told him I had no idea, apologized, etc. Well when he came back he told me where it was and gave me directions. Ummmm, I did not solicit this information. I don’t know why you are giving me this information, but I am unable to determine the appropriate response. So, being me, I just stared at him awkwardly and then forgot to speak and turned around and went inside. Not weird. I am not weird.
Well, I actually did end up needing to know where the library was, to go print the week’s notes after class. Thanks to the hipster punk kid I knew where it was. Too bad I didn’t tell him thanks. Or tell him anything at all. Oh well. When I got to the library the “information” desk attendant was on the phone so I went to the circulation desk and asked where there were computers I could print from. The lady looked at me like I was a moron, pointed behind me, and said, “There are computers right there.”
“Wow. Thanks for all that helpful information.” I said, before realizing I was speaking out loud. But you know my motto; say the wrong thing, say it the wrong way or don’t say anything at all.
When i turned around, thankfully, the hippie information attendant was off the phone and got me squared away. Now, again, to say I am socially awkward is like saying Charles Bukowski did drugs. It’s a touch of an understatement. Now, I don’t think I looked like an especially approachable person on that day but apparently I’m the only one who thought that. First, a kid walked up to me and asked me how to log into the computers. I told him, assuming that would be the end of it. Oh, no. It wasn’t. He went on to explain to me his entire life story including his biology degree and how he is doing another bachelors, but in web design or something. He carries on about how he just moved here from North Carolina and asked what my “major” was and what classes I am taking right now and on and on and on and on. I was completely trapped because my notes were all printing and I wasn’t going to leave them. But the kid never stopped talking. Then, I suddenly felt someone weirdly close to my back so I turn around and a woman is looking over my shoulder at my computer screen. What?
She asks me, “Hey did you guys hand in a lab today?”
“Ummmmm yes? Are you in my class or something?”
“No, I’m in the class after you. Are those the notes?”
OH MY GOD WHY DO YOU KNOW WHAT CLASS I AM IN?
“Oh, uh, ok do you have the same teacher?”
“No, a different teacher.”
WHAT THE HELL?
“Allllright, well I don’t know if we have the same notes or not. Sorry.”
During the whole conversation I had these creeped out, worried looks on my face which I was not capable of hiding. Stalker girl just kept going on.
Through the entirety of these exchanges, both with the kid who wouldn’t shut up about his entire life and the creepy stalker lady, I kept looking over at the hippie information guy and giving him looks like “What is happening?” and “Save me”. And that jerk just laughed!! He abandoned me, left me to fend for myself. I will never forgive him. As soon as my notes were done I stuffed them into my bag and bolted for the door, saying bye to the wind.
And that was my first day. And it was awful. And I get to go do it again. Repeatedly. I came home and locked myself in my house and didn’t speak to any peoples (except those little ones that live with me) for the rest of the day because my social capital was fully depleted. Bet you can’t wait to hear how this pans out!