sick
Originally written 01.03.2002
Last night I fealt fine. I went up to see the girls in flat 8 and use their phone. I chatted with the flat’s inhabitants for a bit while waiting for the phone to become free. Then, barring some phone card logistics, I called Erin and talked to her for a while. It was a fairly late evening but nothing crazy. I even fealt fine when I woke up. I reluctantly emerged from bed to notice a note that Iain had slipped under my door that read:
GEOFF, CAN YOU WAKE ME UP BEFORE YOU GO, I NEED YOUR HELP AGAIN. HELLA BUSTED W./ EXCEL. LOVE & HUGS, IAIN.
So, I knocked on a very disheveled Iain’s door and showed him how to format his table cells in Excel. I walked the 25 minutes down to King’s Buildings, and all was right with the world. As I was sitting in my computer architecture lecture, I noticed that I was sniffing more than George W. Bush in his twenties. My nose just wouldn’t stop running. I chalked it up to normal congestion, but as I was submitting that computer security practical, that familiar feeling came over me. I was ill.
When I say ill, I don’t mean ill in the “License to Ill” or “illin’ like a villain” sense. Oh no, I mean the perpetually runny nose, sore throat, miserable sort of ill. I like to think that I’m usually pretty good at being sick. I’d say that the only qualm my firends and family have is my willingness to carry on as usual and my averesion to brightly packaged over the counter wonder-drugs. Today though, I fealt a moody cuss. I was just pissed off at the world. A dry, sunshiny day, and I was feeling to cruddy to skate. Furthermore, I was feeling to bad, and too infectious to make it over to the party at Timothy’s residence hall. So, I fought my way through the South Bridge/Nicholson/South Clerk Street pedestrian traffic to score some echinacea tea and went back to the flat for the rest of the evening. I got some work done on my distributed systems simulation and listened to a ton of old This American Life episodes. In doing so, I realized that Dishwasher Pete sounds surprisingly similar to Kevey and that it’s odd how Camden Joy’s grandios antics and guerilla music reviews can make him a pseudo celebrity while Charlie and Kyle remain in obscurity. All in all, not a very exciting evening, but hey, TAL is rad, and there’s not much else one can do when ill.