I had to miss my stupid molecular biology class on Tuesday. Why? Because some molecular infestation made me puke all freaking day. My understanding at this point of molecular biology is even less than what Wikipedia knows:
Molecular biology is the study of molecular underpinnings of the process of replication, transcription and translation of the genetic material. The central dogma of molecular biology where genetic material is transcribed into RNA and then translated into protein, despite being an oversimplified picture of molecular biology, still provides a good starting point for understanding the field. This picture, however, is undergoing revision in light of emerging novel roles for RNA.
(And I don’t even really know this, I just read it and thought those of you who read this might get an idea of the torture I’m going through so I copied and pasted it.)
How-freaking-ever, I did draw you a picture of the stomach flu that afflicted me. I hope you understand how I felt.
Oh and that’s not even the icing on the cake about my freaking week, no definitely not.
Wednesday, I left my dorm feeling like a new and cleansed person as anything that had entered my body had left some way or another so I was an empty vessel. The sun was sunnier, the wind was windier, the smells were smellier. It was going to be a good day.
John was meeting me for breakfast so I started on my way. And when I got there, what do I see but Arthur running, full tilt, at my boyfriend with a sword. Well, the monster I’ve been dating, it’s not like we’re official or anything. Not that I want to be, I mean I’m whatever about it or you know whatever.
Arthur was running at John the Cyclops. Full tilt. Sword. Focus.
You know how in movies things go all like slow-motiony when there is something super crazy happening?
Life is NOT like that.
Sure, Arthur stumbled and I thought he was going to fall and impale himself on the sword which I was shocked he could actually lift.
However, I had a split second to react. So what did I do? Not yell, “Hey John, there is a maniacal nerd running at you with a sword!” No, I ran and blocked it.
The sword cut my arm and broke it. I’m not even kidding a little bit.
This is when I realized, “This is it. I’m dying. This is how it ends. I’m DYING.”
John freaked out.
I assume he did anyway because I passed the eff out.
I woke up in the emergency room looking at someone who was pretending to try to fix me but really just making me hurt. I hurt bad.
There are some things that went in my favor this morning.
1. Arthur is a WIMP.
2. Arthur is a W I M P.
There are some things that went against me this morning.
1. Arthur had a freaking SWORD.
2. A MOTHER EFFING S W O R D.
I also have a few questions.
1. Where did this “hero” get a sword?
2. Why did no one else notice a delusional nerd running across the quad with a MOTHER EFFING S W O R D?
3. Is this a schizophrenic episode because there is no freaking way this just happened. Right? Right.
Well, I got operated on. Got some stuff to hold my bone together. And then, guess what, I have to have a freaking cast on my arm. I’m thinking pink. Maybe I can draw some doodles on it.
Oh yeah, and did I mention the massive amounts of pain I’m going through. It’s like a stinking crocodile is going all nom nom nom on my arm.
On the plus side guys, it was my left arm. Not the one I draw with as I’m sure you can all tell by my amazing drawings already included. Yeah, I called myself amazing—don’t judge!
Then I’m all doped up on drugs and a nurse comes in and she starts talking about John.
“That boyfriend of yours is so worried, it’s good you woke long enough to give us permission to talk to him. He was pretty angry we wouldn’t tell him anything before that. Such a sweet boy, so worried about you.” Like read me a novel lady, I’m dating the monster, I know him, you know?
“Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh… yeah, well. He’s like, not my boyfriend, I don’t think. Or is it I don’t know. One or the other, either way.”
The nurse laughed. I am NOT a comedian here lady. I’m not here to entertain you. Just shut some drugs in that little tubey thing. Thanks.
“Well, you better not let that one get away. He’s the cutest boy I’ve seen in here in a while and he’s clearly devoted to you.”
Yeah, well lady, he’s a cyclops. Did you ever think of that? JUST WITH THE DRUGS ALREADY.
So she left and my doctor came in and let me tell you. I’m starting to get really sick of this schizophrenia. Dude was a freaking werewolf.
He started talking all up about compound fracture yumminess in my arm and all I could think, and apparently say, was, “You’re a stinking werewolf, how can I take you seriously? Are you Michael J Fox under there?”
He chuckled, “Well, no. My name is David.”
“Well, look Dr. Dave McWolfy, let’s not give me the details because this is clearly not happening for real. If it is, just throw some crap around my arm and tell me how to take care of it and when I need to see you again. And drugs. Lots of them. Medicinal marijuana, maybe?”
“You’re entertaining, even for a bard. Okay. You’re not crazy, here is a care sheet. You’re discharged. You’re boyfriend is going to take you home. I’ll see you on Friday again.”
I sighed, “He’s not my boyfriend...”
“Well, that’s what he called himself, so if not, you should tell him.”
I decided to just let John take me home and have our relationship status remain a mystery.
He took me to his dorm. And made me a nice little home on his couch with all the things I could possibly need. I had Vanilla coke and water and Hot and Spicy Cheez-Its and my laptop (thank John for this update) and my notebook paper (thank John for these drawings) and my pencils and markers.
I was told I’d be sleeping in his bed so he could take care of me and get me anything I need in the middle of the night. I think I may even get tucked in and you know what? I could get used to this.