Sometimes I feel the heat of the flames, the cruel tang of battery acid and rubber tires stinging the inside of my nostrils. Sometimes I feel the hair of two dogs under my arms, trying desperately to leap out of my control to establish their control elsewhere because they’re scared of 65 mph bright lights in darkness, a dusk in Anaheim on fire. Sometimes I feel utterly alone in entropy, staring at the wreckage of my car.
And then I wake up and realize that was months ago.
Last week, I got eaten alive by a mosquito. I had two bites on my lip, one on my side, one on my neck, one on my forehead, one on my thigh. The two on my lip were the worst; my lips were numb and swelled up to a size that made me very much not want to go to school, particularly because it happened the morning of the first day of two that I was going to be high-profile: giving tours of the GrC department and the Screen Printing lab.
Going to the health center on Friday afternoon was nice, particularly with the doctor saying “You just need to learn to not be so delicious!” Ahhhh, taste me, I’m delicious! But they gave me Allegra, which has helped.
Giving tours of the screen printing lab all day during Open House was fun, but tiring. I swear, I must have given the same spiel maybe 30-40 times. My throat was definitely hoarse by the end of it.
The best part about it, though, was when I was showing the light table we image screens on to a seven year old, and he looked at me and said “What if you were to look straight into the lightbulb when it goes off?”
I look at him, and I say in my most menacing voice: “Your eyes would liquifyyyyeeeee. It would be like a science experiment gone wrong.”
I miss telling the youth a bunch of untruth. Particularly teasing my little sister. Definitely miss that.