What is it about being sick that makes everything around you grind to a halt?
I have been in pretty frail condition lately - actually, I am a frail person in general. I have a fairly crappy immune system, and when I was a kid, this manifested itself in about 6 or 7 colds/throat infections/ear infections/general bouts of oozing fluid a year. Now, my immune system has toughened up a little, but I also take horrible care of myself. This means that I deal with a lot of migraines, I'm always sleepy, and I'm generally in a crabby mood because my body simply CAN'T HANDLE the amount of caffeine and sugar and crap I put into it.
On an unrelated note, I am not a particularly pleasant person to be around.
But usually, I am JUST able to hold it together because by body is generally able to function. Like, I can drag myself from one place to another; I can keep my eyes open (unless the room I'm in has those really aggressive fluorescent lights, in which case I sometimes have to put my head flat down on a desk and emit a long, low moan - it's okay, all the cool kids do it); and I can usually communicate in pretty coherent sentences. Mostly.
But then when I'm sick, that shit just FALLS APART, man. Everything unravels fantastically into utter and complete chaos. I become completely unable to keep together all the things on which I had a tenuous grasp before. Those tests I was going to cram for? How am I supposed to study if I CAN'T SEE through my swollen, puffy eyes? That article I was supposed to write? My hands are occupied with kleenex, and so are unable to type (they are also unable to do ANYTHING ELSE hands do, like feed me, hold things, or lie still while I'm trying to sleep). Also, my body is all shaky and weak, so my mobility is restricted to shifting on the couch, walking to the fridge, and then walking back to the couch. Sometimes, I'll stand up for a moment to see if my legs still work, but that's only if I'm feeling particularly brave.
When this happens, I always have this mini revelation about myself. To most people, this is called COMMON SENSE, but to me it seems like a miraculous epiphany every time it happens. I'll be lying on the couch, blowing my nose continuously, and then I'll stop. And I'll realize...
"Hey. Maybe I should...TAKE CARE OF MYSELF. Then, I wouldn't get sick! And I would feel good all the time! Then I could do OTHER THINGS that I usually don't do because I'm busy falling asleep or...falling asleep..."
And I will sit still for a moment, awash in the wonder of this realization. And I'll start to get hyped up by my brilliant idea, and I'll say to myself: "Iris, maybe, once you get healthy again and the little aliens in your body stop plugging up your sinuses, you can start taking care of yourself! You can eat real food again, and exercise, and sleep at normal times like everyone else."
And then I'll nod to myself and mutter happily, and smile (and then wince because smiling makes the dry, irritated skin around my nose crack open like angry fault lines).
Sometimes, when I eventually get healthy again, I'll try to put this plan into action. Maybe it lasts for a little while - last January, it lasted for about three weeks before I crashed and burned. But the end result is always the same: I get so worn out from trying to keep up this regime of health and success that both regimes fail spectacularly at once. The result? Me, blubbering over a failed math test while spooning chocolate frosting DIRECTLY INTO MY MOUTH, not stopping even when I've eaten so much that it's starting to taste weirdly spicy because my tastebuds have been incapacitated by the sugar levels, growling at anyone who comes near me and ABSOLUTELY REFUSING to do anything that functional human beings do, like clean or shower or change my clothes or tend to my responsibilities. This lasts for awhile until I become so disgusted with myself that I am compelled to pick myself up and try again. And it goes pretty well - I'm not healthy, but I'm functional.
And then I get sick.
The moral of this story? Don't try to be healthy - it'll just wear you out.
Must go blow my nose.
Tuesday, December 20, 2011
Monday, August 1, 2011
Good News!
Good news!
Yes, I know it's late, but with me, it's ALWAYS late when there's good news. Good news and daytime just don't go well together. But at night, well, that's when all the exciting things start to happen (and no, not in that way, you ridiculous, silly intramanet people). Point being, I have good news! (Also, redundant me iz redundantly redundant).
During the past month, I have had quite a few projects going on. I'm starting to think that maybe I have created an unnecessary amount of work for myself, but I'm enjoying all of it, so WHO CARES! *has abandon, throws silly, silly rational thinking out window*
Anywhoozers. One of my many projects has been writing a play for a fabulous environmental writing competition, and I am pleased to say that just moments ago, finally, FINALLY I typed the words "The End"! (And NO, I didn't just type those words even though all I had was some doodles and a title). Of course, this is just the first draft, and I'm going to be fiddling with it for another month (or two, or five), but it is still officially a full, beginning-middle-ending, bona fide play, rather than just a tangent in my head. It's not very good yet, since all I've done is hammer out a very rough sketch of what I hope is a significantly improved final draft, but right now, I am just going to be happy for myself. To wit:
:D
This is excellently excellent. To celebrate, I am going to post a little excerpt from my presently atrocious play, currently entitled (but subject to change) OASIS. Without further ado, here it is:
---------------------------------
Yes, I know it's late, but with me, it's ALWAYS late when there's good news. Good news and daytime just don't go well together. But at night, well, that's when all the exciting things start to happen (and no, not in that way, you ridiculous, silly intramanet people). Point being, I have good news! (Also, redundant me iz redundantly redundant).
During the past month, I have had quite a few projects going on. I'm starting to think that maybe I have created an unnecessary amount of work for myself, but I'm enjoying all of it, so WHO CARES! *has abandon, throws silly, silly rational thinking out window*
Anywhoozers. One of my many projects has been writing a play for a fabulous environmental writing competition, and I am pleased to say that just moments ago, finally, FINALLY I typed the words "The End"! (And NO, I didn't just type those words even though all I had was some doodles and a title). Of course, this is just the first draft, and I'm going to be fiddling with it for another month (or two, or five), but it is still officially a full, beginning-middle-ending, bona fide play, rather than just a tangent in my head. It's not very good yet, since all I've done is hammer out a very rough sketch of what I hope is a significantly improved final draft, but right now, I am just going to be happy for myself. To wit:
:D
This is excellently excellent. To celebrate, I am going to post a little excerpt from my presently atrocious play, currently entitled (but subject to change) OASIS. Without further ado, here it is:
---------------------------------
Aiden: Hello? I can see you there, behind the rock.
(Nadiya starts to sprint away, running offstage).
Aiden: No, wait! Please come back! I’m not with those guys, I’m not here to try and take you away! I mean no harm, I just wanted…Please. (He sighs, then starts walking away.)
Nadiya: (From offstage.) What do you want?
Aiden: (Shrugs.) Same thing as you, I’m afraid. Water in my veins and air in my lungs. The chance to breathe in and breathe out another day.
(A pause. Then,)
Nadiya: (Sarcastically) How beautiful. Well, I can’t give you either of those things, so you’d better just leave me alone. Go find another patch of desert for yourself. I’m sure the tumbleweeds will appreciate your poetry.
Aiden: You’re clever. There must be a river around here somewhere, and one that’s not contaminated. I haven’t met anyone who was able to string three words together for several months.
Nadiya: Maybe there is.
Aiden: Would you be so kind as to inform me the way? I won’t leave you alone if I don’t have anywhere better to go. It’s easier if you just tell me where the river is.
Nadiya: (Laughs, then walks onstage, stopping a few feet away from Aiden. She crosses her arms defiantly.) You think I should tell you where to find water? You, a stranger, whom I’ve known for all of a minute and who could be delusional from disease or dehydration? You believe that I would just kindly point you down the right path? Should I tell you it’s just a hop, skip and a jump away from my lovely little abode? Or hand you over a tent that you can put up in case you get uncomfortable? Should I mend your shoes and shirt before you leave? Pack a lunch in case you get hungry? In the middle of this god-forsaken desert, you really expect kindness?
Aiden: (Simply.) Yes.
-------------------------------
Saturday, July 30, 2011
My Poor, Beloved Toenails
My toenail is hanging by a thread.
"Ah!" you think. "Clever Iris is using SYMBOLISM to illustrate some deep, universal truth about the human experience which will feature largely in her brilliant next novel!"
No, really. My toenail is hanging by a thread. My actual toenail. Which is real, as opposed to my brilliant next novel, which is nothing more than a fanciful idea of mine. And...well, not a real thread. I don't actually know what roots toenails to the nailbed. A combination of skin and nerves and blood vessels, I suppose. In any case, it's not a symbol - my toenail really is just a good, solid rip away from becoming FREE OF MY TOE.
This is upsetting, to say the least. I never realized how fond I was of my toenails, how lovely they are, these proverbial cherries on the proverbial sundaes of my feet. They really are an important part of me; I can paint them different colours, they can peek out of the openings of shoes, and they give me something nice to look at when I look down at my feet. I suppose, in a way, this has been a bonding experience for me and my toenails - taught me to appreciate what I have, and all that bull****. So that's good. But for the love of GOD, please let me keep my toenail! I love it. I love all of them! I love them so much that I could not bear to LIVE without any one of them! 9 out of 10 isn't good enough for me. I want all of my toenails. I want to be able to paint ALL OF THEM, and cherish them, and love them and...and...
Sigh. I guess I should explain how this happened. I was walking along outside and I stubbed my toe. Yeppers. Simple as that. Except I'm not your ordinary girly-girl. I don't just bump my toe lightly into a chair like some namby-pamby little baby. When I stub my toe, I do a GOOD JOB of it. I make sure that that little mother****in' toe is crushed, BEATEN into submission, the blood spurting from delicate, fragile little blood vessels in my feet that chose to learn their lessons the hard way. I make sure that if I'm going to hurt, I may as well shed a few nanograms of weight in toenail while I'm doing it. Also, none of this nonsense about stubbing my toe on wood or linoleum or any of those soft, girly materials. No, I stub my toe on STEEL.
You know those short, circular hosey things for water that the city places into the ground? I don't exactly know what they're called, but they're about two inches in diameter and an inch tall, and - oh right - made of METAL. Well, this one little bugger was buried in the neighbours' unkempt lawn, right on the very edge, hiding in the tall grass like a lion in the savannah. And I was just walking along unsuspectingly when I throw my foot into that thing as hard as I could considering I wasn't running. Hurt like a f****** mother******* f****, I'll tell you. And now, a week later, I am in danger of losing my toenail.
See, these things don't happen to regular people. Other people manage to keep all their toenails - more than that, their nails are always painted in delightful, whimsical colours like Seafoam Green or Hallows' Eve Orange. But nooooooooo, not for me! I have to trip over my own feet and accidentally slap my own face and write reminders on my hand that end up on my forehead after I spend the night sleeping with my head in my palm. I have walk into cabinet doors, leaving bruises the length of my THUMB on my forehead (my forehead has taken quite a bashing over the years). When I get a pimple, it's not just a cute little red spot. It conspires with all the other pimples on my face to form a giant, green, pulsating pancake on my face, until I literally cannot move my cheek. Literally. And when I stub my toe, I stub it goooood, baby. My life is a f***ing hilarious, 24/7, live-action comedy.
Yet I don't have enough material to write a simple, little, freaking book. What's wrong with this picture?
Yours forever,
Iris
"Ah!" you think. "Clever Iris is using SYMBOLISM to illustrate some deep, universal truth about the human experience which will feature largely in her brilliant next novel!"
No, really. My toenail is hanging by a thread. My actual toenail. Which is real, as opposed to my brilliant next novel, which is nothing more than a fanciful idea of mine. And...well, not a real thread. I don't actually know what roots toenails to the nailbed. A combination of skin and nerves and blood vessels, I suppose. In any case, it's not a symbol - my toenail really is just a good, solid rip away from becoming FREE OF MY TOE.
This is upsetting, to say the least. I never realized how fond I was of my toenails, how lovely they are, these proverbial cherries on the proverbial sundaes of my feet. They really are an important part of me; I can paint them different colours, they can peek out of the openings of shoes, and they give me something nice to look at when I look down at my feet. I suppose, in a way, this has been a bonding experience for me and my toenails - taught me to appreciate what I have, and all that bull****. So that's good. But for the love of GOD, please let me keep my toenail! I love it. I love all of them! I love them so much that I could not bear to LIVE without any one of them! 9 out of 10 isn't good enough for me. I want all of my toenails. I want to be able to paint ALL OF THEM, and cherish them, and love them and...and...
Sigh. I guess I should explain how this happened. I was walking along outside and I stubbed my toe. Yeppers. Simple as that. Except I'm not your ordinary girly-girl. I don't just bump my toe lightly into a chair like some namby-pamby little baby. When I stub my toe, I do a GOOD JOB of it. I make sure that that little mother****in' toe is crushed, BEATEN into submission, the blood spurting from delicate, fragile little blood vessels in my feet that chose to learn their lessons the hard way. I make sure that if I'm going to hurt, I may as well shed a few nanograms of weight in toenail while I'm doing it. Also, none of this nonsense about stubbing my toe on wood or linoleum or any of those soft, girly materials. No, I stub my toe on STEEL.
You know those short, circular hosey things for water that the city places into the ground? I don't exactly know what they're called, but they're about two inches in diameter and an inch tall, and - oh right - made of METAL. Well, this one little bugger was buried in the neighbours' unkempt lawn, right on the very edge, hiding in the tall grass like a lion in the savannah. And I was just walking along unsuspectingly when I throw my foot into that thing as hard as I could considering I wasn't running. Hurt like a f****** mother******* f****, I'll tell you. And now, a week later, I am in danger of losing my toenail.
See, these things don't happen to regular people. Other people manage to keep all their toenails - more than that, their nails are always painted in delightful, whimsical colours like Seafoam Green or Hallows' Eve Orange. But nooooooooo, not for me! I have to trip over my own feet and accidentally slap my own face and write reminders on my hand that end up on my forehead after I spend the night sleeping with my head in my palm. I have walk into cabinet doors, leaving bruises the length of my THUMB on my forehead (my forehead has taken quite a bashing over the years). When I get a pimple, it's not just a cute little red spot. It conspires with all the other pimples on my face to form a giant, green, pulsating pancake on my face, until I literally cannot move my cheek. Literally. And when I stub my toe, I stub it goooood, baby. My life is a f***ing hilarious, 24/7, live-action comedy.
Yet I don't have enough material to write a simple, little, freaking book. What's wrong with this picture?
Yours forever,
Iris
Friday, July 22, 2011
Let's Try This Again
I've tried to put up a new post a couple of times in the past few weeks. My computer, apparently, does not want me to return to my blog. It's crashed more times than Charlie Sheen at his height, and refused to save my work in the process. But I am persistent, you hot mess of a computer, and I refuse to back down! You hear me? I refuse! I will prevail, for the sake of my blog, and for the sake of the powerful, awe-inspiring, enduring egocentricity of mankind which makes ranting, inane blogs necessary! *cue grand swelling of music as I wave a Viking sword around and come over a mountaintop on horseback*
Anyhow. Last couple of posts I had planned were about some interesting things. Well, interesting in an obviously nerdy kind of way. Harry Potter, books I'm reading, stuff like that. But honestly? After my computer screwing me over so many *&Y@$ing times, I'm really not in the mood anymore. I just want to get this finished and on the internet, before my computer can eat it up again. Nom nom nom.
So, I have decided to just write about what's on my mind, and what's on my mind is the latest book I've been writing. It's still pretty nebulous in its actual form, but here are some of the things I've been thinking about that have contributed to the initial premise of the book (most to all of the ideas are subject to change and/or complete deletion from the final work - if it ever gets to 'final work'):
- the way people see other people, and specifically the way people misrepresent other people to themselves
- colour, and not just in the literal sense
- the importance of interpersonal interactions (I understand this is a bit amusing to write about on an online blog, but oh well. Interpersonal interactions are important, whether we like it or not)
- why people hate dentists so much
Yep, that's pretty much it so far. I realize there's approximately three people (including my mom) who find this interesting or relevant, but as I've said before - this blog is not for you, people of the intramanets. It's for me. And - I hope I'm not jinxing myself here - I think I just managed to complete an entire post without my computer crashing, which helps me a heck of a lot.
'Til next time!
Yours truly,
Iris
Anyhow. Last couple of posts I had planned were about some interesting things. Well, interesting in an obviously nerdy kind of way. Harry Potter, books I'm reading, stuff like that. But honestly? After my computer screwing me over so many *&Y@$ing times, I'm really not in the mood anymore. I just want to get this finished and on the internet, before my computer can eat it up again. Nom nom nom.
So, I have decided to just write about what's on my mind, and what's on my mind is the latest book I've been writing. It's still pretty nebulous in its actual form, but here are some of the things I've been thinking about that have contributed to the initial premise of the book (most to all of the ideas are subject to change and/or complete deletion from the final work - if it ever gets to 'final work'):
- the way people see other people, and specifically the way people misrepresent other people to themselves
- colour, and not just in the literal sense
- the importance of interpersonal interactions (I understand this is a bit amusing to write about on an online blog, but oh well. Interpersonal interactions are important, whether we like it or not)
- why people hate dentists so much
Yep, that's pretty much it so far. I realize there's approximately three people (including my mom) who find this interesting or relevant, but as I've said before - this blog is not for you, people of the intramanets. It's for me. And - I hope I'm not jinxing myself here - I think I just managed to complete an entire post without my computer crashing, which helps me a heck of a lot.
'Til next time!
Yours truly,
Iris
Monday, February 21, 2011
Sick
I know, I know. Yet again I've let a month slip by between blog posts. I am a terrible person, I have no time management skills, yaddah yaddah yaddah. The only excuse I have - miserable as it is - is that I am completely submerged with schoolwork. I thought last semester was hard? Ha! Last semester was a picnic in a meadow with Colin Firth feeding me Lindor bunny chocolates and a lute-player (lutist? Llllll...autist?) serenading me in the background.
This semester has upped its game significantly, and I'm finding myself being pushed to the limit in every subject. I'm still striving, still pushing ahead with faith and perseverance, but it's getting harder and harder. What's more, I am horrendously sick. I can't move my neck, can't swallow, and every bone in my body feels like it'll shatter if I move. Also, my nose seems to have become some kind of waterworks display, and I am helpless to stop it. But unfortunately, I have to go to school tomorrow, because I just can't afford to get behind. I have both academic and extra-curricular commitments, and I know I sound like a self-important snob (which, let's face it, I am) but I just can't drop all that to stay home sick!
On the plus side, I've just finished a wonderful book called 'A Tiny Bit Marvelous' which I recommend to anyone looking for a light read to cheer them up. I've also been reading a book for my Literature class (obviously, more serious than 'A Tiny Bit Marvelous') called 'My Name is Red,' which is a thoughtful and interesting novel about art and religion. Lengthy, but I'm enjoying it.
Also! I am hoping to start up my SECRET PROJECT soon, if all goes well. My life's a little bit super insane at the moment, but hopefully it'll be ready to go by March. See you then!
Iris
This semester has upped its game significantly, and I'm finding myself being pushed to the limit in every subject. I'm still striving, still pushing ahead with faith and perseverance, but it's getting harder and harder. What's more, I am horrendously sick. I can't move my neck, can't swallow, and every bone in my body feels like it'll shatter if I move. Also, my nose seems to have become some kind of waterworks display, and I am helpless to stop it. But unfortunately, I have to go to school tomorrow, because I just can't afford to get behind. I have both academic and extra-curricular commitments, and I know I sound like a self-important snob (which, let's face it, I am) but I just can't drop all that to stay home sick!
On the plus side, I've just finished a wonderful book called 'A Tiny Bit Marvelous' which I recommend to anyone looking for a light read to cheer them up. I've also been reading a book for my Literature class (obviously, more serious than 'A Tiny Bit Marvelous') called 'My Name is Red,' which is a thoughtful and interesting novel about art and religion. Lengthy, but I'm enjoying it.
Also! I am hoping to start up my SECRET PROJECT soon, if all goes well. My life's a little bit super insane at the moment, but hopefully it'll be ready to go by March. See you then!
Iris
Saturday, January 29, 2011
After the Storm
The calm has finally arrived, my friends.
In my last post, I gave you an intimate glimpse inside the often frightening world of the Studying Teenager. If anyone (not including my sister - I know you're reading this) was reading this blog before that post, they certainly aren't anymore. But today, my friends, is a completely different day than then. Today I am well-rested, calm and worry-free. How, you ask?
Yesterday I wrote my last exam. It's nearly impossible for me to wrap my head around that fact, but there you have it. I've finished four courses! Whatever happens next, happens, and I'll save the freaking out over my marks for later. Now is the time for cleaning my room, shaving, doing my hair, getting back on my diet, reading, and socializing. It's a wonderful feeling, to be able to do all the things you want to do. I fully intend to get the most out of my four-day break. On Wednesday, a new set of classes begins, but for now, I am living the life.
iris
In my last post, I gave you an intimate glimpse inside the often frightening world of the Studying Teenager. If anyone (not including my sister - I know you're reading this) was reading this blog before that post, they certainly aren't anymore. But today, my friends, is a completely different day than then. Today I am well-rested, calm and worry-free. How, you ask?
Yesterday I wrote my last exam. It's nearly impossible for me to wrap my head around that fact, but there you have it. I've finished four courses! Whatever happens next, happens, and I'll save the freaking out over my marks for later. Now is the time for cleaning my room, shaving, doing my hair, getting back on my diet, reading, and socializing. It's a wonderful feeling, to be able to do all the things you want to do. I fully intend to get the most out of my four-day break. On Wednesday, a new set of classes begins, but for now, I am living the life.
iris
Saturday, January 22, 2011
Brain Sprain!
All day, my friends, studying has been me. I say this because to say "I have been studying" would imply that I was the subject of my day's activities; this is not true. This day has not been about me reading my notes and memorizing lists and terms and theories. Rather, it has been about the material devouring me, digesting me completely and letting me become part of it. I have morphed into the study. The study has morphed into me. I AM the studying.
This may sound a little melodramatic, but let me tell you: I have studied for eight hours today, and while I love all the subjects I've been studying, there comes a time when memorizing 300+ verbs, their four principal parts and respective translations, can become a little mind-bending. That kind of intensive brain work should be credited with a little melodrama. Not that I'd rather be studying anything else, but I feel so wrung out by studying that I don't feel I can do it for one more second. This is a problem, of course, because I only got through about half my material today, but I have studied it so thoroughly that facts just keep popping randomly into my - genetic variation is when a gene controls variation in hereditary traits.
Hmm? Sorry, what was I saying? Oh, yes. I am so afraid of forgetting what I've studied that it's been repeating over and over in my head on some twisted, thought conveyor belt. Even now, I feel I should be cramming in some more studying, but I felt I had to write instead - for the sake of my health, not that it's in such good shape, anyway.
This is the result of my day's labours: I have a pounding headache, I haven't showered, and I really should go finish the laundry. My diet has crumbled under the stress like a kiddie chair when I sit on it, and my hair is indescribable. I am paranoid, OCD, a complete mess, and the acronym BEVGAPSH is on a continuous loop in my head (don't ask what it stands for - no, don't - don't! - *there is a scuffle* - Biogeography, Embryological Development, Vestigial Structures...)
This, my friends, is the plight of the Smart Kid. Other teenagers have horror stories about hangovers and failed report cards and breakups over text message with their dirt-bag boyfriends; I deal with none of that. There is no such drama in my life. I have a pretty OK relationship with my family (it's a little rocky, but it works), I love my friends, I am responsible, well-behaved and don't attract too much attention to myself. But the sight of me after a day of studying would frighten any parent into picking the lying, green-skinny-jean-wearing, booze-a-holic drug addict over me. Those nerds you see at work or school with the glasses, the shy smile and the neatly organized study notes - those are the ones who go completely ape-shit at exam time, destroying their surroundings and doing things like tripping over lint on their way down the stairs, then grabbing the railing with just two fingers and somehow managing to break their nail while they're getting up, only to slip again because they're wearing those socks with the frogs on them that make them giggle in the brief, manic periods between study hours (once they finally reach the bottom of the stairs, they've forgotten why they came down, and blink at family members like they've never seen them before; then they make their perilous way back up the stairs, already going over in their minds what they should study next, their left eye twitching, but it must be okay because that's never happened before - it must just be a brain sprain, if that's a thing - although that's also what they said about that rash a couple months ago, and it's turned purple in the meantime).
The world of the intellectual teen is a frightening one, and don't let anyone tell you different.
Until next time,
Iris
This may sound a little melodramatic, but let me tell you: I have studied for eight hours today, and while I love all the subjects I've been studying, there comes a time when memorizing 300+ verbs, their four principal parts and respective translations, can become a little mind-bending. That kind of intensive brain work should be credited with a little melodrama. Not that I'd rather be studying anything else, but I feel so wrung out by studying that I don't feel I can do it for one more second. This is a problem, of course, because I only got through about half my material today, but I have studied it so thoroughly that facts just keep popping randomly into my - genetic variation is when a gene controls variation in hereditary traits.
Hmm? Sorry, what was I saying? Oh, yes. I am so afraid of forgetting what I've studied that it's been repeating over and over in my head on some twisted, thought conveyor belt. Even now, I feel I should be cramming in some more studying, but I felt I had to write instead - for the sake of my health, not that it's in such good shape, anyway.
This is the result of my day's labours: I have a pounding headache, I haven't showered, and I really should go finish the laundry. My diet has crumbled under the stress like a kiddie chair when I sit on it, and my hair is indescribable. I am paranoid, OCD, a complete mess, and the acronym BEVGAPSH is on a continuous loop in my head (don't ask what it stands for - no, don't - don't! - *there is a scuffle* - Biogeography, Embryological Development, Vestigial Structures...)
This, my friends, is the plight of the Smart Kid. Other teenagers have horror stories about hangovers and failed report cards and breakups over text message with their dirt-bag boyfriends; I deal with none of that. There is no such drama in my life. I have a pretty OK relationship with my family (it's a little rocky, but it works), I love my friends, I am responsible, well-behaved and don't attract too much attention to myself. But the sight of me after a day of studying would frighten any parent into picking the lying, green-skinny-jean-wearing, booze-a-holic drug addict over me. Those nerds you see at work or school with the glasses, the shy smile and the neatly organized study notes - those are the ones who go completely ape-shit at exam time, destroying their surroundings and doing things like tripping over lint on their way down the stairs, then grabbing the railing with just two fingers and somehow managing to break their nail while they're getting up, only to slip again because they're wearing those socks with the frogs on them that make them giggle in the brief, manic periods between study hours (once they finally reach the bottom of the stairs, they've forgotten why they came down, and blink at family members like they've never seen them before; then they make their perilous way back up the stairs, already going over in their minds what they should study next, their left eye twitching, but it must be okay because that's never happened before - it must just be a brain sprain, if that's a thing - although that's also what they said about that rash a couple months ago, and it's turned purple in the meantime).
The world of the intellectual teen is a frightening one, and don't let anyone tell you different.
Until next time,
Iris
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