I had a group presentation to give today in my ENG 373 Literature of the Enlightenment, 1643-17something or other class. I figured that I should look somewhat presentable so I put on SOME makeup, and put on what appeared to be clothing, and walked out the door with Andrew. I managed to do all this while my head was doing strange things.
MWF means four classes for me, and all of them literature classes, one of them in a different language. I got through my French class. I didn't succeed, though, that's for sure. The best part was when my teacher asked me a question, and I told him that sometimes life is too easy, and we're all bored, and the stupid nobility have it all. Except for I didn't say that, it didn't answer his question, and it had nothing to do with the poem we were reading.
So I continued on my merry way on to my next three classes, all while having peculiar feelings in mine noggin.
Those magical stars are actually me wondering what was going on around me.
I don't remember much about my Rhetoric class. Sadly. Strangely. I know we talked about criminal shows.
In my Gothic literature class, I asked my teacher if there was a musical of Frankenstein. He said there may be. I'm going to look that up. Unfortunately for my image with the teacher, we were not talking about plays, musicals, or Frankenstein at that point. I asked it out of nowhere. But in my mind, it did connect somehow. It was like a really big connect-the-dot that only made sense to me. I could see the dots AND the numbers. Everyone else had to rely on my vague actions, mystical arm movements, and disjointed speech patterns. Communication was not very successful.
|What was actually happening.|
|This is what happens when I haven't|
gotten enough attention from Andrew
in a while. I go "PAY ATTENTION TO ME!"
He thinks it's cute. Ask him.
By the time I gave the group presentation, which was in my last class at 1:00, I was all sorts of strange and tired and weird. My head had been pounding all day, and I was experiencing a strange disconnect with anything outside of my immediate past three seconds of consciousness. I don't remember much of the group thing. The teacher liked it, despite technical difficulties. Yay! After class, I went up the tall stairs of death, and waited for Andy to get out of class. Then we went over to the Fletcher building so he could finish some computer lab of intelligentness. I was waiting for him NOT in the lab, AWAY from technology. It's generally safer for the both myself and the computers if we aren't in too close of proximity.
While I was downstairs, I couldn't help but notice that the world was getting stranger. And that I was shrinking in height, and growing in width. And that my hair was getting greasy and falling out.
Everything was out of shape. My hair started looking like a Gollum reenactment. Objects started acting like Salvador Dali had come to town. My stomach started making really strange rocking/sloshing/I dislike you greatly-movements/feelings/complaints. Desperate for aid, I called Andy down to me. He was the bestest husband alive. He packed up his stuff, and carried my backpack, and half carried me, all the way home. Once home, I did the only thing that I could under the circumstances.
I fell on the bed, put my teddy bear Francis on my head, and promptly passed out for about 2 hours. During that time period, I was having strange dreams about Enya songs, and my missing husband (who was in the next room, not actually missing). When I woke up... I was hungry. Andrew and I had Frosted Flakes for dinner. My stomach decided that that was enough sugar before I was full, so Andy made me soup. I really must say that Andrew gets 18.75 out of 10 Awesome Husband Points for the day. What a sweetheart. I love that guy.
Andrew finished his lab, and he's smart. I like to tell him he's the SMARTEST ME ON CAMPUS! That doesn't mean he's the smartest *Tashya* at BYU, but the most intelligent Mechanical Engineering student attending BYU at this time.
And now, instead of doing homework, I did all of this nonsense. My head didn't want to think. Depending on how things are working in the morning, I might stay home. Too much Dali or Monet, and I'll stay abed. If it's closer to Caravaggio, I suppose that's good enough and I'll be out and about. I'm going to tell Andy that he's really awesome some more, and then go to bed. And pray that my tummy doesn't dislike me in the morn. And that my hair stops looking like Gollum. "There's no point in living if I can't be beautiful!" Ah, gotta love the Chelson quotes.