Apparently Head Colds Make Me Feel Existential

Due to the tremendous amount of snot in my head, I stayed home today. Also I woke up completely congested and feeling like somebody had been sitting on my bed stuffing cotton balls up my nose all night and giggling evilly to himself, thinking ‘He he he, when he wakes up he’s going to be so pissed!’  After my mom saw me coughing snot into a kleenex I asked her if I had to go to school, and she looked at me and said, “God no. You can stay home.”

Thank goodness for that. I would’ve lost all my friends if I’d gone to school today. Luckily I think the worst of it is over – my nose is still stuffed up but at least I can taste things just fine, which is all I really care about. My grandma came over earlier today to drop off the blessed Tim Hortons chicken noodle soup and a bagel, and I think that pretty much stopped the cold right in its tracks – not because there’s anything particularly magical about Tim Hortons’ soups and bagels, just that my mind THINKS there is. Mind over matter, you know.

I’m in a good mood, despite my cold, because I got a call from the hospital today saying that I can see Dr. What’s-His-Face on Friday. I really wasn’t expecting them to get back so soon, but they did, and the lady even sounded pretty sorry about it. She told me that he feels really bad for missing my appointment and she even offered that I could show up tomorrow at three, but suggested that Friday would work a lot better. As desperate as I am, I agreed on the Friday option, and so, if all goes well, that’s where I’ll be in a couple of days. I am pissed off, but the doctor doesn’t deserve my hate; I get that annoying things happen sometimes. I don’t get why they always happen to me, but I get that they happen.

Today I almost literally did nothing. I blew my nose a lot, if that counts. I just sat on the couch watching the news and reading Lord of the Rings, while my cat slept across from me for, literally, the entire day. It’s too bad that I missed school, but hey, at least I have a good valid reason besides that I just didn’t feel like going. And anyways, it’s the last week before the holidays, so I doubt we’re going to be doing much, especially in English. The next big thing in English is the summative, which I’m more or less prepared for. The only thing I need to do for that is be confident and try to remember the main parts of my monologue – most of it is just on the fly, so I won’t actually need a script. I find it really hard to act off a script, it’s better when you can improvise, and I think I can improvise pretty well, at least for this. I think Zoe’s still doing her boxes thing for the summative, which should be cool, although she’s so shy that I don’t know how well she’ll be able to explain it to the class. To me she always explains things really well, but I think she gets really nervous in front of other people. Which is odd, to me, because I don’t have that kind of social anxiety – my social anxiety is just one big mess of paranoia, and fear of silence, and fear of the entire class privately thinking something along the lines of ‘Wow, this kid is really weird, and her sweater is full of holes, and she’s such a prissy snob, and what is she, a lesbian?’ I have no idea what people are really thinking, though. Could be it’s ‘Wow! This guy is extremely handsome! I love the holes in his sweater! I’m such a well-adapted and accepting individual that I understand, on sight, that he wishes to be referred to as a he instead of a she! I should ask him out for butter chicken, which I somehow instinctively know is his favorite food.’

I don’t know. Wouldn’t that be great? The thing is you can never possibly know what someone is thinking about you. More often than not I’m pretty sure people just don’t care – and I know for certain nobody’s ever silently praised the holes in my sweater. I think I just need a new sweater.

Ah, but here’s a thing to discuss! Clothes v.s Me. It could be like an old black and white B movie, where my clothes leap out of my dresser and try to strangle me to death while a blaring chorus plays dramatic music in the background. (I can picture that with unnerving clarity.) Meh, I was going to write a thing about this but I’ve lost the will to do it. I’ll just leave you with that image and you can imagine my war with the clothes to great detail if you want.

So, Friday. Good. I’ll show up at Dr. What’s-His-Face’s office in my plaid shirt, hiking boots, and toque, with a glued-on lumberjack beard and a chainsaw over my shoulder (which is my recurring way to make fun of myself) and get him to hand over the Magic Boy Drugs (now they’re capitalized because they’ve become a thing.) I’m sure I’m not the only person who’s ever worried a lot about the MBDs, even before they got them. I know it does all sorts of crazy stuff to you, but that’s the exact point of the whole thing. Do I want a lumberjack beard? Heck yes. Or at least the ability to grow one, if not an actual lumberjack beard. Also I want that half-millimeter that’ll bring me to 5″6 (but that’s just vanity), and I wouldn’t mind actually liking my body, for once in my life, which isn’t as much vanity as it is just a thing that everybody ought to be able to have. Being miserable about yourself really starts to get awful about sixteen years in – and given the chance to be happy, what idiot wouldn’t take it? Again, I say, give me those Magic Boy Drugs.

But I’ve still got a while to wait, probably. You know what, no, I refuse to meander around ticking off the seconds until Friday – it’ll come, just like it did last time. If my doctor is in Mexico, I’ll just curl up on the floor of his office and refuse to move until somebody tosses me my Boy Drugs, and then I can go home happy. That’s all I really want out of the meeting – that and some info on when I can get the jiggly things on my chest removed. None of this is a question of “if” – it’s going to happen, I’ll hike up Mount Everest and then make a snowsuit out of lamas if that’s what I have to do, but it IS going to get done. I would like my short life on earth to not be painful and aggravating, thank you very much – actually that goes for everyone else on earth. Real nice job you did there, universe, making people’s lives so awful. Why couldn’t you have put us down in a hot spring somewhere with some good books and called it an eternity?

Looks like I won’t be able to help a small spiel on religion, so, I don’t believe in God, I think I’ve said it before; I’m not totally opposed to SOME higher power or whatever, but most of the time I really do think it’s just us and the stars, alone in the universe. Why things felt like they had to exist in the first place is completely beyond me; and how something came from nothing, that especially goes way over my head. One problem I have with evolution is why things even want to evolve. What’s the final goal? Is there none? I feel like the goal of existence and evolution and life itself is just to live, and survive, for a little while until you die. And when you die, that’s it. Splat. Dead. End. If God is real, (which I doubt), then I’m going to go right out and say Screw you, God. Because he or she or it put me in a body that doesn’t match my brain and that’s really one of the shittiest things you can do to someone. If it’s just nature being weird, then I’m even more confused; why the heck would nature think it’s a good idea to put people in the wrong body? What possible evolutionary goal does that achieve? If you’re trying to create new genders, then you’re failing miserably, nature; I know there are some third gender people, but personally I’m very much a guy and you screwed up big time with me. I really don’t understand the whole gender dysphoria thing; if it’s just God being a jerk, then okay, but if it’s nature being schizophrenic, then nope, I won’t have it. Get it right already, put us in the right bodies to begin with. Merci beaucoup.

Well, I feel like I’m out of writey things now. Got my transgender ramble in, check, got my existential ramble in, check; I guess it’s time to say good night, probably. And after I see Dr. What’s-His-Face, finally, I’m going to write the most detailed description that my brain can churn out, complete with pictures, a storyboard, and I don’t know, voice actors. Whatever.

See you later.

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About thecellarboy

17. I write, play music, and have a cat that likes to bang his head against doors until they open. View all posts by thecellarboy

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