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Whew, that leaves me just enough time to rest up and panic before classes start tomorrow. :P
So, by now that blasted tonsil is so swollen it feels like I'm holding a marble at the back of my mouth, and it's put my gag reflex on such a hair-trigger that even opening my mouth to see it makes me retch. It's also about this time that I'm regretting not falling down to grab the on-call doctor's ankles and beg him for industrial-strength narcotic painkillers. There's only so much Tylenol can do, you see, and at a certain point it can only do jack shit. [sigh] I have to wonder how much good this amoxicillin derivative he's prescribed will do toward battling this Savage Mystery Bacillus. If there's no improvement by my fourth or fifth dose, it's emergency time. I'm going to classes on Monday even if I have to take the bus from a hospital in Mountain View. I hate having my pain threshhold stretched. . . .
If there's anything nastier than getting really sick, it's getting really sick very, very slowly. There's no telling how sick you'll get, or at what point you'll start recovering. So there's no way in hell to know if you'll feel better tomorrow, or if you'll get chucked in the hospital. And if there's anything worse than getting really sick very, very slowly, it's doing so right before the start of classes at your new college. And wouldn't you know it, I've never had a sick day (from work, at least) in my *entire life.* But it's not as if the people at Abcom Security would believe that, considering how many of the references on my job application seem to have thrown out all records of my employment with them. So I can't really blame them if they won't believe a word I say, but I wish to GOD that there was a way to get sick without pissing anyone off. If I call in sick, my employers get cheesed off and my mother gets a new complaint; if I go to work sick, I become the Nasty Inconsiderate Paraiah for spreading germs around the workplace. Everyone's so considerate of your health, until they're responsible for it. >_____<
Woke up this morning at 5:30, after a night of anxiety dreams and 90-minute intervals of sleep, with an Imminent Curse of God sore throat and tremendously swollen glands just there. Said hell with it; got up, took Tylenol, gargled nasty hot saltwater. Didn't seem to do anything much, even though my salt gargles are potent enough to pickle my tongue. Then the Tylenol kicked in, and I began to think perhaps it wasn't the type of vicious new infection that strikes down the young and healthy before they can even call the doctor. Oh, God bless the makers of Tylenol. (Plz pardon my stiff written manner; I'm trying to keep a security report at the same time, and they want us to write in third person.) :P A marvellous, marvellous thought struck me last night, as I was hitting the sack: the story that's keeping me from writing Tiercel at the moment is *entirely original.* The setting is mine. The characters are entirely original and not based off of anyone else's characters that I know of. The plot is something I've never even seen hinted at. And all of it is stable. The characters hold together under their own weight, and are strong enough that the plot develops naturally around them. At last. . . . And gee, it only took me . . what, twelve years? :P |