hell

I am scalding hot, body red. My breathing is shallow and irregular and forced. My head is pounding with a magnitude to rival my meningitis days. I have a lump in my throat that makes it unbearably hard to swallow. My eyes are burning. I ache. I feel like I could retch my innards out all over my precal binder. Basically, hell.

I honestly don’t feel like doing my usual boring as heck rundown of the day. I honestly feel like hurling a textbook through a window or something. Wait, no. I doubt I have the energy. I just want to collapse and make it all go away. My only release is when asleep. Okay, I suppose I owe an explanation as far as the whole ‘freaky, pissed off, I hate everything attitude.’ I woke up feeling nauseous; I knew today was going to be bad. Oh, but I didn’t know how bad. Before school my best intentions were to go to precal, but I honestly, honestly loathe that place. It reeks of death and decay. I utterly hate everything about precal. Instead I went to the place where I can, for a short time anyway, escape reality partially. Or at least pretend. In English we basically just read LotF, but I was done so I organized some of her humanities stuff and put it in folders. Jeez. Am I a suck-up? Know what?—I don’t care if I am. I don’t mean to be. I certainly don’t need to in that class. Sorry if I seems a tad like I’m bragging or something like that, but it really is all I have to brag about, my one thing that I can hold onto and say, “Look, I like this, and I’m good at it, and I love going to this class.”

Okay. Well, then. Now came death. It was like a viper striking. I don’t even want to think about it; the thought is making my stomach churn literally and my head throb even more. Basically she hates me. And wants to eat me (Julie said it, not me..). Stats doesn’t matter, except for the one miracle that was handed to me: I scraped an A out of the recent test, and I literally thought I failed it. At lunch I was a loser and worked on bio stuff in the quiet sereneness of A-7. All alone. I rather enjoy silence now and again- it was quite nice on my head. Yearbook was chaos; basically we got all worked up over the t-shirt design. Wow. And then I worked. And throughout the class my body ached more and more, as well as my throat.

Tennis was torture. I could not hit the ball for the life of me, and finally after like an hour I couldn’t take it, so I just lay down right there on the court. Flat as a pancake. No one cared or noticed; it was great. Wobbling slightly, I headed for the bathrooms because I was sure I would throw up or something. I ended up spending a glorious eternity at the waterfountain, gulping the weird tasting ice cold stuff down.

After practice Julie and I chilled at Starbucks. This was the one saving grace, the one hallelujah all day. When that Grande White Mocha touched my lips and ran down my throat in all of its caffinated, gooey, sugary, creamy goodness, I was content for once today.

But now I’m at home. I was upset. My dad, surprisingly, calmed me down. He gave me ice-water. He talked serenely and logically with me. Our voices were, as Mrs. S. would say, “one meter voices.” HOLY CRAP I HATE THAT…

Calm..

Calm.

Okay. My fever is only 99.7. I’m not going to die. Even though this week will be even more torturous than today (shudder shudder), I won’t die. At least I hope not. I already keeled over twice today…