This morning I get a text from a friend asking me what my schedule is this semester. I had signed up for the classes I wanted & among those were 2 of the same class but at different times. One was the perfect hours for me, the other was second choice if I didn't get the perfect hours. The semester started today. I forgot to look to see which class I got into over the weekend. It's a good thing I have friends who are interested in things I do because she remembered about my schedule being available this weekend & I didn't.
I looked & saw I didn't get into the perfect hours one. I got into the second choice one. Whatever. Fine. Except that it started today, when it was originally going to be on Tuesdays & Thursdays. I had big plans to get things done today before the school week started...tomorrow.
I had to get my books together & do 36 hours worth of things in 8 hours. It sucked.
I had the wrong book for my class. Got to school early, returned it. Had to figure out where my class was, in a part of the building I'd never been in. Got there just in time. Whew.
Sat down. Nausea. Room spinning. Seeing spots. Massive stabbing pain behind one eye. Ah, lovely. Mr. Migraine has such great timing for his visit. In a bright room full of loud people making loud noises. And my Imitrex is in the truck...about 6,982 miles away. And class is starting right this second. That sucked.
So I text hubby (shh...Miss Professor has no idea I was texting in class, don't tell). Due to my squinty, pounding eyes not being able to see too clearly, & the auto correct that hates me, the following is the conversation between hubby & me after telling him I had a migraine & there was no time to go get my medication from the truck during our 10 minute break because I was parked all the way by the book store & I was on the other side of the building (holy run-on sentence, Batman):
Me: It took me 15 min to get here from boon store
Me: I'll just bark on my neigh or
Me: You laugh cuz you're glad you're not my neighbor
Me: Or cuz I wrote bark instead of bard?
Me: Good lord. B.a.r.f.
Me: I hate migraines & my phone Hayes me
Me: Sigh. I'm oit
Me: My phone has a migraine apparently
Me: The chic behind me has clicked her pen nonstop for the last hour. Get bail money
ICE: Lmao oh boy. Pick u up at [jail]?
Me: I'm using my one call for Gerard. So this is your warning.
ICE: Ouch lol
Which leads me to class time. So during class this chic behind me clicked her pen, as you see in my text to hubby. I despise unnecessary noises. And pen clicking? I will stab someone in the eyeballs with their own toe nails over that. She sat directly behind me in a room of about 50 people. And clicked. The room was a large lecture room & it echoed. It was lovely. People were giving her looks. People were sighing. People were showing obvious signs of agitation: rubbing their necks, holding their temples, shifting in their seats, holding their shoulders.
And for once when I say "people were" I actually mean "people were" & not just "I was".
This chic was obnoxious. I hope she got a cramp in her thumb. She clicked for 1 1/2 hours nonstop. Did I mention I had a migraine?? I literally sat on my hands to prevent myself from turning around, grabbing that damn pen, and shoving it up her nostril.
1 1/2 hours. Nonstop. With a migraine. It sucked.
The fact that she is still alive makes me a saint. Amen.
Oops...wrong kind of Saint...
Yup. A saint. For not shanking her ass.
During class Miss Professor apologized for using the word "scrotum" & blushed when she said "anus". We are nursing students. She is teaching an anatomy class. These words are going to come up. And this isn't her first class on this subject. Not only does she teach this subject a couple time a week (and for a couple years now), she also had to take this class herself a few years ago when she went through school to become a chiropractor. So you'd think body parts aren't really an issue for her. Pretty funny to watch an anatomy instructor blush over body parts. That didn't suck.
This is what my teacher looked like. Without the fur or paws or whiskers.
So after all that I get my Imitrex, it kicks in, and I decide I'm hungry. Not too uncommon for me to be hungry.
I drive to Taco Bell. I go inside 'cause I hate eating Taco Bell while driving. That was my first mistake. I get my order & sit down. That was my second mistake. As I'm pulling my chair up to the table, my middle finger gets sliced & diced by something on the chair. As I'm swaying from the dizziness going on in my head & blood is dripping into my other hand, I think, "Whoa. That's never happened."
My finger got cut so deep I knew I needed to go to the ER & my third mistake was telling hubby because then he drove to get me & take me to the ER himself. So while I'm waiting for him, I'm sitting in Taco Bell telling a supervisor how to fill out an incident report because she was too
It. Was. Cold. That's just literally insult to injury. Do. Not. Mess. With my food. They caused me to have to wait to eat & it was cold.
There will be hell to pay.
At the hospital I see that my manicure...which I just got on Friday...is scratched & the skin on that finger is pulled back. Oh, no they di'n't! First my food, then my manicure? There are certain things you don't mess with: the way my towels are folded & stored, the order the clothes are hung in all my closets, my food, and my nails. There are more, but those make me sound neurotic enough. My manicure is not to be messed with unless you're suicidal.
There will be more than hell to pay now. Someone's goin' down.
And now I'm sitting here with a doctored, bandaged, throbbing middle finger on my right hand & a tetanus shotted, aching left arm.
That's why I'm typing one handed. And it sucks.