a required taste for the pretentious as all get out





and remind me to never trust "ashley" from "fifteen" again
January 04, 2004, 5:39 pm

Right as I type this, my eyeballs are thrumming. They're sore, and they have developed deep pockets of blood-red spots on them. This would be cool if I were Marilyn Manson, but sadly, I'm not. I don't think I'm fully prepared for the looks of shock and disgust I'll be getting from my students tomorrow.

I keep running conversations through my head between me and a fictious doctor that I made up when I was 12, Doctor Martin Whedall. Dr. Whedall was the man that has broken down every single one of my terminal illnesses that I have afforded myself whenever I either wanted to wallow in my self-pity or just wanted to initiate my pretend cycle. Dr. Whedall tells me I have a scant 24 hours to live because I've contracted a non-contagious, fast acting disease that causes my skin to break out into goosebumps and my eyeballs to turn red. I am not, under any circumstances, to go to school tomorrow or, if I am to survive, ever again. Instead, I am permitted only to lounge around in my pajamas and call people on my cell phone, telling them goodbye.

I've been calling El Rabido Mono, Blulinepaper every few hours, apprising him of my condition. Mostly, I've just been recapping what's happening on the 2nd season of 24. (Potential Spoilers Ahead...Don't Read if You Haven't Watched It) "Hey Dave," I say, almost as if I don't have a life-threatening disease, "Remind me to never get caught in a cougar trap, and then follow some lone wanderer to his cabin in the woods and then down to his bomb shelter that he took two years to build. Oh yeah, and when I coerce my boyfriend into helping me kidnap my nannying charge to get away from her abusive father, only to find her mother's dead body in the trunk of the car, then escaping from the police by causing an accident that nearly kills him and a police officer, remind me to NOT get too upset when he breaks up with me."

Yeah, basically I've done nothing but watch television and pine away about the Ravens loss yesterday. (Get Orlando Brown the hell outta town! Oh, I know, the Titans played a hell of a game, shutting down Jamal the way they did. I'm not too bitter or anything. Just pissed.) It's a nice way to end my vacation, I suppose, before the real problems and stress start again.

Thankfully I won't have to be a part of it, what with my illnesses and all. Okay, so I only have a touch of a weird 24-hour virus and possible bronchitis, but a girl can pretend, can't she?

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