For this must ever be/A secret, kept from all the rest/Between yourself and me

So I spent a good chunk of Wednesday in a nearby ER. Yes, for myself. No, I didn't fall headlong down some stairs (like I did right before my 21st birthday), nor did I swim or even attempt to swim in Taylor Swamp. Er, lake. Sorry. It started last Thursday, with this weird, uncontrollable spasm thing in my whole body. It wasn't a seizure, because I was conscious and coherent, but it wasn't exactly normal, either. It only lasted fifteen or twenty seconds, and it didn't seem incredibly serious. But various friends insisted I go to the health center, so I did. They didn't know what caused it, but they'd talk to various specialists and such, and would I please come in immediately if it happened again?
Then, two (three, now, since it's officially Saturday) days ago, my left arm started the whole uncontrollable twitchy thing. And it didn't stop. If I held my arm still, or braced it against something, it would stop--but then the twitching would start up somewhere else. Oh, and by 'didn't stop,' I mean virtually non-stop spazzing for five or six hours; it only stopped after being given various meds--including Ativan, which I'd never been on before--and only lasted a few hours. But by that time, I was so wasted from the single Ativan that I was pretty foggy. As in, don't remember much at all.
I twitched a couple times today, too; though they only lasted a second or two, and were pretty localised.
Nobody has any idea what's causing it, which scares me. But then, if you think about it, I've been reasonably healthy for quite a while now, so it only makes sense that I'd end up with something bizarre like this. Go figure, eh?
I screwed up the courage to leave Confusion a message on her blog. Immediately after, I tried to forget that I'd done it, and I succeeded decently well. Imagine my shock when I got a reply from her. I still miss hanging out and reading and swapping books and such, but I daresay that even though it's only been little over a year since we last saw each other, we've both changed so much that we might not have any connection anymore. It's entirely possible; it would be sad, but not horrible.
Damn, speaking of sad. I need to get Austin to fix my headset. Stupid piece of crap. But if Austin can't fix it, then I'll have to get a new one. I don't want to get a new one. New headsets cost money. Money != available to me right now. (Eight million points to anyone who understands what that means, by the way)
I know I had something else to put here, but I'm tired and the meds are kicking in, so I'm going to head to bed.
OH! now I remember. Someone (I won't say who) asked me for a list of all the books I've read. I kinda went blank from shock--I mean, I have no idea as to all the books I've read, but I have a pretty decent guess of the quantity, at least. I told this Someone that it would take awhile, and all they said in response was, "no rush." Am I the only one who finds this a bit disturbing? I mean, good heavens. It's like asking my dad for a comprehensive list of all the people he's worked with since joining the mission field.

But what the hell. It'll take awhile, but I'm hoping to have a reasonably accurate list in another couple of weeks. Hopefully I won't leave out too many titles.

And that's it for now.


And now, if e'er by chance I put/My fingers into glue

Saw those lines and laughed. It's so me...I can just see myself in the ER someday because I accidentally epoxied my fingers together, or my hand to my pants, or something along those lines. What can I say? I'm just brilliant like that.

As for addressing comments raised:
1. Yes, I'm aware that there is a Woman's 1-10 Scale of Female Attractiveness, but in this case, the person in question would rate about a three. So I figured I'd at least use the higher number. And thank you to the same person, for deeming me a female unlikely to dress in a provocative manner. 2. I don't hate men. Not in general. There are some very specific males whom I loathe, but they don't contribute to my positive or negative inclinations towards the opposite sex. In a way, you could say I have no men in my life; but at the same time, I have many.

And on to the actual post.

I had a test in Idiot Maths that I completely forgot about. Go me, eight million points for lack of brilliance there. What else? Lots of reading; got a new book called Mistress of the Art of Death, it was pretty good. Not great, not abysmal, but pretty good.
Speaking of abysmal, I found a great list on McSweeney's of actual comments people wrote on some poor sod's short story for a writing class. I have no idea how terrible the writing must have been, but to inspire comments such as those, it must have been absolutely horrific. (Said list can be found here)
Kinda makes me wish I had had the guts to say similar things in certain stories and whatnot in Advanced Writer's Workshop last fall.

I think that's about it. I'm still befuddled by the behaviour of the human race in general, but I have pretty much given up on ever understanding it. Oh, to be independently wealthy and therefore able to be a misanthropic shrew. But, alas, it is not to be. I suppose I'll have to settle for Keeper of Souls.
It'll do, I think.


Between the idea/And the reality

Such a real issue, too. Few people acknowledge, let alone discuss, the difference between idea and reality; concrete and abstract. Not just on big issues, either; I mean everything. You can read all about what it's like to ride a roller coaster, but until you actually do it, you'll only have a hazy concept of what roller coasters are really like.

No idea where that came from, except, maybe, lack of sleep.
You read right, my possible friend(s). Once again, I am sleep-deprived. I've got to say, nothing like two nights in a row to make you feel kinda edgy and lost. As long as I can make it until after freelance writing, I'll be fine. I can grab food and crash, so long as I remember to get up by nine a.m. Maybe I should set my alarm for some random bizarre time, like 11:30 p.m.
Oh, and maybe I should explain. Paper due tomorrow. Yippee. Haven't read the material, either, so I'll be doing that at breakfast today. Good grief. I'm planning on going to breakfast. In the DC. For the second morning in a row. Ugh.
On the bright side, I'm back to eating solid food and no longer speak like a cretin (and in this context, cretin means a being with very little intelligence, often to the extent of being incapable of coherent speech). It doesn't hurt anymore, though it's still a bit puffy. It just itches; but it's not like there's anything I can do about it. Half the time I forget it's even there. Which is a good sign, I suppose. Unless my body rejects it and my tongue swells to the size of a zucchini in a matter of minutes, and then I'll suffocate and die. But that's just a semi-remote possibility.
Yesterday evening I had two--no, three interesting conversations. One revolved around various organs in jars (my favourite was the brain, with a slice of lemon added for freshness). Another took place in the virtual realm I haunt on a mostly regular basis, when a guildmate and I struck up a conversation and found out that, not only do we live about an hour apart, but his uncle was my astronomy professor last spring. How's that for weird? The third, while being partly the most irrelevant and partly the most interesting, was about a girl I know. She's...difficult. She has little personality, doesn't rate above a five on the standard Men's 1-10 Scale of Female Hotness, and is very self-absorbed. So why the hell do guys chase after her? The answer I received was a completely unsatisfactory nonanswer: that it's because she has cleavage. Well, guess what? So do most females, but they aren't being followed by hordes of adoring males. I pointed out that even I have cleavage. The speaker then looked at me and said, well. Um.
I'm not entirely sure what that implied. Nor am I sure I want to know. Though, to be completely honest, I'd like to know what guys see in vain unattractive chicks to make them want to marry--that's right, not just date, but marry--them. It makes zero sense to me. And to a lot of other females out there.
Guys, please. Just because she seems like a 'nice girl' doesn't mean she is. And just because she seems like an Ice Bitch or a ManEater, doesn't mean she isn't hoping you'll notice her. The surface is only that--surface. What good is a hollow person? It's like getting a big chocolate bunny on Easter morning and breaking off a piece in excitement, only to find that the whole thing is a millimeter-thick shell with nothing inside but air. Wouldn't you rather have something of substance? You know, something without big gaping holes where, say, personality and common sense should be?
I'm done. I'm going to go eat, and try not to pass out. Because that would be bad.