The last several days have been surreal and stressful. When Wal was killing himself to watch all of the films he wanted to squeeze in and write all of the new reviews for his Top 35 Vampire Movies in time for Halloween, I tried to talk him into giving himself a break, and decreasing the self-imposed workload a little.
For anyone who knows Wal, this obviously was unsuccessful. The logic worked better when I used it to rationalize not posting for NaBloPoMo the last two days. Yesterday I left work in the morning and was at services for my aunt and with my family all day, until two flicks at the festival, and then we got home basically at midnight. Again.
Wednesday was a bizarre day. A friend who is back in town had to listen to me go through it in excruciating detail, but suffice it to say, I was feeling very sick, and they piled masses of work on me with unreasonable time limitations at work, in several different areas. (And then home for ten minutes, and then my favorite restaurant that we wrote into the film festival plan was closed, and then a feature, and then a set of shorts, and then home around midnight.) In thinking about the day, I discovered that it was the worst day, with sort of everything going wrong that possibly could (the work part, not the friend/brian/Juno part), that I had in recent memory - in fact, all the way back until...
And then I realized that instead of blogging about how I had a lot of work and outlandish deadlines, I should tell you about the ACTUAL worst day ever for me, because that's just a better story. And it has a picture.
Sophomore year in college, the stars had aligned such that I had three exams in one day. Two upper level engineering math courses, and a psychology class (Oh, I know, psych, ha, ha), spread out over the course fo the day. I woke up in the morning- the first one was pretty early, so I guess I was up before everyone else, and set about getting ready. I headed out to the dorm fridge to fix up a PB&J (oh, college life), felt a little funny, and then woke up on the floor.
I was confused to be staring sideways at the shady carpet (and lord knows no one would ever lie voluntarily on dorm carpet), but I slowly got up and made my way to the bathroom. I think I felt like I might throw up, and that's why I headed that way.
I walked in the bathroom, and caught my reflection in the expansive (and crappy!) wall mirror, to see that I had blood all over my face. I grabbed some toilet paper and was starting to clean it up a bit, when...it happened again.
The next time I woke up on the cold bathroom floor, I gathered my wits and made my way to Brian and laid back in bed. I don't think I had the facilities to explain what was wrong, but I remember trying to tell him to call my parents.
What happened for the next few hours is all pretty unclear to me now, but I remember that my mom came up to campus, and Brian did what he could to clean me up. I talked to the math professor, and he (miraculously!) did okay me skipping the exam to go to the hospital. I tried to call the psych prof, but had no luck, and ended up actually having to by his office. I sat their bleeding from the head (as yet unbandaged) as he told me that as a doctor (...PhD!!!), he didn't think I needed stitches, and that I was not excused from the exam.
(Sidenote: This is a guy who makes different versions of exams, printed on different colored paper, and enforces color-mixing, to discourage cheating. I loved when someone pointed out a typo on number 10 once, only for us to all turn there and discover that, yes, they were all... the same version of the exam. Oh, psych professors.)
I did take his stuipd exam (AND I GOT A BIG STUPID A, YOU JERK), but by that point, I did not have time to get back to make the second math exam, which was the deal / plan I had worked out with the other prof. I stayed and took that (I'm sure doing less well, because that class royally sucked), and then finally by 8 PM or so, we could head out to the ER.
Not only was the stupid psych guy wrong - I did need stitches - I actually needed two layers of them. That's so unbelievably gross for me to think about, still.
I was pretty mortified by having to walk around with giant black stitches tying my forehead together (oh, why not in a place I could cover?!), but I survived, thanks to Wal telling me it was cool, like Sally in The Nightmare Before Christmas. While it was healing, I rocked the Harry Potter scar, which was cool, I guess, but now it's not even visible at all.
Upon further consideration, I do not have the photo on my laptop...and, well, long story short, I'll have to look for it. Consider yourself lucky.