Drink lots of fluids, call if you feel sick, and no strenuous activity.

It's possible that I'm a moron.

I'm not saying it's true! Just possible.

Today, I gave blood. Everything was going fine, my iron levels were good, my temperature was fine (the second time round, I might be getting sick, yetch), I haven't had sex with a man who's had sex with a man who contradicted AIDS in Africa, yadda yadda yadda. Surprisingly, I was done rather quickly, then ate some cookies and off I went.

Right in time to seem my bus drive pass. Darn.

So, being the bright, intellectual, academically-inclined person that I am, I decided to walk.

One of the things they tell you after giving blood is to avoid strenuous activity. Now, I assumed that translated as, don't run a marathon, don't go rock climbing, do use this as an excuse not to vacuum.

Apparently, it also meant don't walk.

From the clinic to my house, it's about a thirty minute walk. Not a big deal. Off I went, humming 'Merry Chrisislamakwansica' under my breath.

Twenty five minutes into this walk, I realized something was wrong.

When texting to say I'd be home soon, I had to physically slow down because I couldn't concentrate on my phone and the path ahead. I'm a teenager: I can text anywhere anytime anyplace. This was not good.

I put my phone away and that was when I realized that if I didn't stop, my body was going to. I stopped and woah, dizziness. My heart was racing, my skin was clammy and I felt like I was a step away from fainting.

How exactly had I not noticed that?

I took a moment, but I was so close to home that it seemed ridiculous to stop.

I took another step.

Wrong move. I swayed but managed to stay upright long enough to think, oh gee I should sit, and then I sat. At the side of the road. Alone. In the dark.

Another two minutes and I'd be home! If I could just get off my ass...

A failed attempt at standing was all I needed to get out my phone and call home. Sure, it'd be a thirty second ride, but I was desperate. Last thing I needed was to wake up with bugs stabbing at me 'cause I conked out at the side of the road. Or worse.

I managed to stand and walk another thirty paces before I saw my ride. They didn't ask why I'd wanted to be picked up at the side of the road two minutes from home, and that was probably for the best.

Now I'm at home, lying in bed, studying the hole in my elbow, and wondering if a fear of needles is rational.

Yup, I'm a moron.

Rumplestiltskin

I am going to write a pantomime.

I don't know when or, honestly, how, but I'm going to and it's going to be epic.

Or at least mediocre.

Life Lesson.

Manical laughter. Thunder. Lightning.

This is awesome, honestly. I feel so evil, except I didn't do anything evil, they just did something stupid!

Texas. Poor, poor racist/sexist/discriminatory Texas. They tried so hard to ban any and all forms of gay marriage that they accidentally banned ALL marriage in the process.

See children, that's what happens when you're pigheaded.

The Solution To Our Problems

When I was little (well, younger), I would drink warm milk while writing.

My sister was confused by this healthy habit. She announced that I must have added sugar.

She didn't believe me when I said no.

Ever courageous (and still believing that sugar is the solution to everything), she stuck some milk in the microwave, added a heaping spoonful of sugar, and gulped it down.

The look on her face said it all.

And then the teacher let us finger paint and then we ate animal crackers and Jamie called me stupid so I said, "I am rubber, you are glue!"

I'm not that whiny, honest.

But somehow, in my playwriting class, all the characters I've played during the entire semester are high-pitched, whiny brats.

My first monologue (previously posted) involves a 14-year-old very energetic girl. A couple times I've read out in class, and the character has always been weird. And today, for our group play, I was a seven-year-old girl that talks rapidly and giggles.

Afterwards, even one of the guys commented on it.

I've been typecasted. As a child.

To Keep My Love Alive

Today, while discussing the battered wife syndrome, my Crim teacher said it's not a good defence for those of us looking to kill our husbands, and as he said it, he looked directly at me.

Thanks, really.

Mandrake Roots

The other day in my English class, a kid was in front of the class doing a presentation of John Donne's 'Song'.

The poem references a mandrake root, so the kid (well, a kid in his mid 20's) was describing all the different connotations they have.

He explained how the root looks like a human body and how folklore says they scream when you uproot them.

Then someone in the back went, "Like in Harry Potter?"

Suddenly, everyone knew knew exactly what a mandrake root is.

Score one for college :D

Oh.

You know when sometimes there's that moment of they like me, they really like me!

I get that sometimes.

It's kinda epic.

Also epic: gossping and chatting and laughing so hard you push on a pull door at the same time your friend does. Then there's that moment of, why isn't the door openin--oh.

My Philosophy class is really improving my artistic abilities.

Iolanthe '08

Pirates of Penzance '09

Princess of the Pea '08

 



Me in twenty years.



Odette, the Swan Princess

Today I was on Facebook when suddenly my Internet crapped out.

And I thought, No! I need to know what non-Disney princess I'm most like!

And then, when the Internet came back a second later, there was ad in the corner. 'Do you like Hannah Montana? Come meet thousands of other singles that like Hannah Montana too!'

...

I don't know what the signs of the apocalypse are, but I think it's fair to say that the world is coming to an end.

And if it isn't, it should be.

Totally worth it.

Cinderella had it wrong.

If life gives you pumpkins, don't make a carriage. Make shoes.

And throw out the lemons.

That's a life lesson.