As a kid there was a period when I would get nosebleeds about every other day. It was kind of cool in the sense that I got out of class all the time, but bad because I was, you know, bleeding. I might have spent more time in the nurse’s office than learning my ABC’s. Maybe that’s why I’m so bad at alphabetizing things…
But in my most outstanding nosebleed story, I do not do the bleeding.
The day was bad from the start. I was in kindergarten, sporting a recent bowl-ish haircut that made me look like a boy. My mom had also forced me into a pair of hideous brown loafers, which she insisted were “VERY stylish!” and told me “How GOOD you look today!” The haircut was bad, but since I couldn’t see my own face, I could deal. The shoes, though, killed me. Stiff, uncomfortable, big, and fugly, I went to school and refused to talk with anyone. I sat alone, wallowing in misery and scared that the other kids would poke fun. My only hope was recess: to run and climb on the huge wooden playground, and ride the tire swing until I puked! But before I had even begun to play, recess was ruined. I was running, only to find myself face-down in the pebbles on the ground. My shoes! Still on my feet, but shoelace-less! What? These things were like big, stupid boats on my feet, hindering any attempt I made to move. My spirit was crushed. I sat in the highest tower for the rest of recess.
At long last, it was time to go home. I was elated, PLUS my mom had come with my baby sister to walk me home! We were walking up a gravel path, when I said I would carry my sister for a while, just for fun. I seized her under her arms and lugged – but I hadn’t banked on her enormous amount of baby fat. Refusing to admit that she was too much for me to handle, I tottered a few steps, and then felt those dumb shoes trip over each other. I lost balance, and dropped my sister face down in the gravel with a plop. I wanted to snigger, “Gosh, you’re HUGE!” Then she picked up her face from the ground. It was contorted with pain and streaming with tears, with blood shooting spectacularly from her nose. She started to wail. My mom tried in vain to stem the flow with a pack of tissues, all the while yelling at me and thanking the crossing guard for offering more tissues. My little snigger evaporated in an instance.
Stupid shoes.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Nosebleeds: They Can Be Surprisingly Convenient
It was happening again. I could feel the first warning signs: the cool trickling sensation, the light metallic taste in my mouth which I knew would grow stronger, and the fact that my friend was pointing at my nose and backing away from me. Within seconds, my nosebleed began in full flow, with blood gushing down my nostrils and me trying futilely to block it with my hands. I tipped my head back, pinched my nostrils, and raised my hand to get the attention of my gym teacher.
“Not again!”, he said exasperatedly, “All right, leave your stuff here, someone will grab it for you, and go to the nurses office.”
I complied with the first order he gave me, but I never went to the nurses office. I had a strange dislike of the nurses office, and avoided it at all costs. Each time I had a nosebleed, I would sneak into the nearest bathroom and stay there until the bleeding had subsided. This particular incident occurred years ago, back when I was in second grade. However, this aversion to the nurse's office followed me even until last year, where I regurgitated (to put it lightly) everything out of my stomach during my third period English class. I would’ve preferred to just stick it out in the bathroom, but I was foiled by my English teacher, who told me the nurse's office was expecting me, so I had no choice but to go.
Nosebleeds plagued me throughout my second year of elementary school, and no one seemed to be able to find a reason for them. My mom attributed it to frequent dryness, and my sister…..well, she like to tell everyone in the vicinity that extensive picking in the nose area had caused the nosebleeds. Personally, however, I really didn’t know why they happened, just that they happened during convenient times. For instance, my second grade PE classes used to be split between a big gym and a smaller gym, and we were in the big gym about once every two weeks. The big gym PE classes were taught by a different teacher, a rather intimidating man, or so I thought at the time. I hated PE classes in the big gym for some reason, and every time we had class there, a blood vessel or something would break in my nose, and bam. Just like that, a nosebleed would start, and rescue me from thirty five minutes of physical education in the big gym.
“Not again!”, he said exasperatedly, “All right, leave your stuff here, someone will grab it for you, and go to the nurses office.”
I complied with the first order he gave me, but I never went to the nurses office. I had a strange dislike of the nurses office, and avoided it at all costs. Each time I had a nosebleed, I would sneak into the nearest bathroom and stay there until the bleeding had subsided. This particular incident occurred years ago, back when I was in second grade. However, this aversion to the nurse's office followed me even until last year, where I regurgitated (to put it lightly) everything out of my stomach during my third period English class. I would’ve preferred to just stick it out in the bathroom, but I was foiled by my English teacher, who told me the nurse's office was expecting me, so I had no choice but to go.
Nosebleeds plagued me throughout my second year of elementary school, and no one seemed to be able to find a reason for them. My mom attributed it to frequent dryness, and my sister…..well, she like to tell everyone in the vicinity that extensive picking in the nose area had caused the nosebleeds. Personally, however, I really didn’t know why they happened, just that they happened during convenient times. For instance, my second grade PE classes used to be split between a big gym and a smaller gym, and we were in the big gym about once every two weeks. The big gym PE classes were taught by a different teacher, a rather intimidating man, or so I thought at the time. I hated PE classes in the big gym for some reason, and every time we had class there, a blood vessel or something would break in my nose, and bam. Just like that, a nosebleed would start, and rescue me from thirty five minutes of physical education in the big gym.
Friday, August 3, 2007
Stupid Things:.......
Stupid things. Everyone does them once in a while. Some people just happen to do them more than others... One stupid moment I'm not particularly proud to recall happened during finals week of my freshman year of high school. I had been anxious and worried all throughout the previous week because of my impending biology final, and the doom that I thought came with it. The night before finals, I attempted to cram my brain with any last information it might hold, checked and rechecked the schedule for exams, and went to bed feeling like I had prepared myself as well as I could. The next morning I got up too early, most likely because I was nervous and couldn't sleep well. I moped around my house, tried to kill some time before my finals, and then finally, when it was fifteen minutes to nine thirty, I grabbed my backpack and set out for school. I was still a few minutes early, so I wasn't surprised that not many people were in the school, but something felt wrong about the eerie quietness in the halls. A chilly wind blew in through the school doors, and a lone sheet of notebook paper fluttered up from the ground. A girl rushed past me from the outside, and almost collided with another teacher that had just entered the hallway.
"You'd better get a pass from the office, missy! You're twenty minutes late!", reprimanded the teacher. Still confused, I thought to myself, "Pshh, what IS this guy talking about?? It's still ten minutes to nine thirty!" And then.........a silent scream erupted inside of me, and a sense of panic welled up so rapidly it threatened to burst out. I was an IDIOT. I had thought I had prepared everything. I had studied as much as I could, but I had gotten the most important thing wrong- I had memorized the wrong time for exams!!! An internal battle raged inside me; should I proceed to my first final straight away, and tell my teacher that I was there all along, and how could he not have seen me?? Or, should I go get a pass from the office and hope that my teacher would think I had some sort of excuse for being late? I made my decision, and marched to the main office.
"Excuse me, I....kind of mixed up the testing times, so I need a pass to my first final," I stuttered.
I watched as the office secretaries shook their heads and clucked with disapproval, most likely thinking, "This has to be a freshman...". After I received the pass, I slinked out of the office with a feeling of utter stupidity, and raced to my first exam. Once there, I handed my teacher the pass, and hinted that the extremely heavy layer of snow on the ground had prevented me from getting here on time; I had tried my hardest to be punctual for this ever important examination, but had failed, and was extremely sorry.
"You'd better get a pass from the office, missy! You're twenty minutes late!", reprimanded the teacher. Still confused, I thought to myself, "Pshh, what IS this guy talking about?? It's still ten minutes to nine thirty!" And then.........a silent scream erupted inside of me, and a sense of panic welled up so rapidly it threatened to burst out. I was an IDIOT. I had thought I had prepared everything. I had studied as much as I could, but I had gotten the most important thing wrong- I had memorized the wrong time for exams!!! An internal battle raged inside me; should I proceed to my first final straight away, and tell my teacher that I was there all along, and how could he not have seen me?? Or, should I go get a pass from the office and hope that my teacher would think I had some sort of excuse for being late? I made my decision, and marched to the main office.
"Excuse me, I....kind of mixed up the testing times, so I need a pass to my first final," I stuttered.
I watched as the office secretaries shook their heads and clucked with disapproval, most likely thinking, "This has to be a freshman...". After I received the pass, I slinked out of the office with a feeling of utter stupidity, and raced to my first exam. Once there, I handed my teacher the pass, and hinted that the extremely heavy layer of snow on the ground had prevented me from getting here on time; I had tried my hardest to be punctual for this ever important examination, but had failed, and was extremely sorry.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Stupid Moments: Oh Man.
The second after my sister suggested this topic, I knew I was in over my head. For the past 13 hours, I’ve been thinking of nothing but the times when I’ve done incredibly dumb things: swallowing a penny, sticking a double-serated steak knife into my mouth, falling face first into a watt of mud while biking no-handed and performing the YMCA, snowboarding down a mountain through a forest having never snowboarded before in my life, sticking fire into a tub of water bubbling with hydrogen gas, licking a water filter, and streaking someone’s yellow house with red paint…just to name a few. The sad thing is, in the matter of minutes it took me to rattle off about eleven stupid things that I’d done, my sister managed one and a half; her second one didn’t even qualify as being wholly stupid.
Sigh.
But rather than retell every story and watch my self-esteem crumble into dust, I’ve chosen two. One is from when I was little, and therefore have some excuse for. The other is from the very recent past. Let’s say, two weeks ago?
Story 1:
There I was, about to attempt what had never been attempted before. What lay before me was a daunting task, but I was not afraid. I would tell no one; this mission was mine, the burdens for me alone to bear. I was about to push through the boundaries of humanity.
I dove. Immediately, darkness fell, and I was enveloped by a strange, amorphous substance. I thrashed wildly, fighting to breathe. What was this? I could not gain a stable foothold. I tried to muscle my way out, but to no avail. Yet, just as I was on the brink of suffocation, I saw a tiny ray of light in the distance. It was my only hope, I thought, as I dragged my body feebly toward it. Cool, sweet air filled my lungs. I gulped; nothing had ever tasted to good. But my mission was only half over -- this was only the first layer! Squaring myself, I reached out and grabbed, feeling my hand close around my target. But it was soft, much softer than I had expected. No! I could not afford to be taken by surprise. I needed this thing. It would cover me, shield me, from whatever enemy forces were out there. My protective shell. By this time I had stared to sweat, yet I pushed on. A little sweat never killed anyone. But what if it did? What if my sweat were laced with poison, somehow infused by the Enemy? I shoved the thought out of my mind. My protective shell had begun to slip slowly from my grip. Desperately, I lunged. With one final heave, I knew I had done it. Safe at last. I lay there, panting, realizing for the first time how hot and exhausted I felt. I broke into a grin. YES! Under two blankets at the saaaame time. I was so proud I could poo.
After a quick meal I returned to the site where my blankets still lay in a heap. Fueled by one successful attempt, I was ready to do it all again. But I stopped short: the blankets were already on top of another. I crawled beneath them. Yes, I was under two blankets. But was this the same as when I crawled beneath one, and then painstakingly dragged the other over myself? No, it couldn’t be the same. I refused to acknowledge that I had wasted my efforts. This was the Enemy’s doing…
Story 2
I’ve never liked biking. When I was younger it was alright; we went on family bike rides and most of the time it was fun. Plus, the pink bike with streamers made everything better. It even had a matching pink basket attached to the handlebars, so I could bring my toy pony with me. Now, my bike is just a form of transportation. It’s not pink, so I feel no joy when I get on, and since when did biking become so much work? There are hills and inclines EVERYWHERE.
One day, while biking to work and mumbling angrily about what a hassle this stupid bike was, I noticed the grass growing along the sidewalk cracks. When I was little, I used to play a game with myself: ride along the cracks. I decided to restart this game. Soon, I was on my merry way, navigating along the various cracks in the sidewalk. Feeling a bit tired, I switched to a lower gear. But something was wrong. A grinding noise? Grinding noises don’t mesh with sidewalk cracks, they don’t go together, bad! I looked down frantically, hoping with all my might that the chain was still on my bike. It was. Relieved, I pulled my head up to resume sidewalk crack riding. Too late did I realize I was fast approaching an electric pole the size of large tree trunk. Abort! Abort! I sideswiped the pole with my handlebar, veered dangerously off the sidewalk and felt my bike begin to tip over. In a last ditch attempt, I tried jumping off my bike and pulling a ninja move to save myself. It would’ve worked, if not for the backpack. Oh, the backpack -- having served my faithfully through all these years, it decided to betray me in my time of need. Throwing me completely off balance, it sent me tumbling, half sliding, half rolling, onto the ground. I scrambled up as fast as possible, thinking not about any injuries I might have sustained, but about the possibility of someone having seen me. My worst fears were realized when I heard a voice call out, “ARE YOU OK?!” A little old lady had apparently decided that the morning was a good time to work on her garden. The morning, really?! I gave an unintelligible reply, indicating I was fine, and then pedaled the hell outta there. Ouch. My pride. And this time, there was no pony.
Sigh.
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