Backup

Day 15: The campus is still recovering from Friday's historic blizzard. Nearly all my usually paths to class were made treacherous by snow and ice. I tripped and slid my way to Spanish.

No le gustó.

Ditto on the way to Statistics. Headphones Guy was in attendance (headphones and all) but, this time, he was at least 6 rows behind me and, thus, easy to ignore.

About 15 minutes into class, I started to feel... weird. Weird turned into headache. Headache joined hands with nausea. Then muscle soreness. Then sweat.

I took notes and ignored the signs.

After class, I usually head to the Student Union for lunch. This time, I headed straight for my car, eager to get home. I wouldn't acknowledge the "S" word, not even to myself, not even in my head. But, by the time I got home, there was no denying it.

I was sick.

I am sick. Sick as in well beyond "as a dog" sick. Sick as in "a hodgepodge of biological wrongness sick. I am a sad, frustrated, shuddering mass of anti-masculine cliches.

So I'm a Taylor Swift album.

Or a Hot Pocket.

That's it. I'm a human Hot Pocket: Gross. Brown. Awful. Molten on the outside. Frozen in the middle. Generally bad for everyone's health.

There's a lot of grossness and confusion happening here.

I am slugging back a cornucopia of rainbow flavored pills and electric colored cold medicines, my bowels a churning cauldron of partially digested whatnots, frothing and churning, heaving and roiling with turgid brownish...

...

I am sick.

I am sick and I have class tomorrow.

And I did not plan for this.