Kind of an awkward day, really. I was doing fine this morning, right up until I had to leave my house. The roads I take from my home to my school are pretty much entirely lined with the trees that Iím deadly allergic to, so even if I seem in relatively good health when I step out my front door, Iím a stopped up mess by the time I arrive at school. On top of that, itís warming up. Which means that I have to roll the windows down in the car, and which also means that Iím sweaty and gross if I spend more than five minutes outside.
I showed up to class today, a sweating, mouth-breathing, nasty pile of flesh. Luckily, I was pretty much the first one there, so I figured I would have some time to cool off. Unluckily, that particular classroom is always hot, so I just ended up sweating more.
On the drive home after class, my allergies were tripping out even more, to the point that it felt like there was sand being poured into my eyes. I got home, my eyes watery and achy, my nose stopped up and dripping, and my throat swelled and itchy. I immediately got into the shower to wash off whatever allergens were clinging to me.
And hereís where the story goes from slightly uncomfortable and mostly boring to a Ray story. A Ray story is still slightly uncomfortable and mostly boring, but it generally has the added bonus of me suffering. While washing my face, I got soap up my nostrils. I long ago learned that when this happens, I have to instantly rinse it off or Iíll end up inhaling it. This time, it didnít even matter. My nose is so dried out and chapped from the constant wiping, blowing and scratching that as soon the as soap came in contact with the raw skin, I began sneezing. When youíre a fat guy, one of the last things you want to do is have a violent sneezing fit on wet porcelain. Thereís the purely aesthetic aspect, of course, where youíre a big fat guy, naked, soaped up, and jiggling all over the place as you jerk with each sneeze.
But itís also very dangerous. See, you have the soap all over the bottom of the shower, youíve got the running water, youíve got your flab to keep you off balance as each sneeze racks your body.
I didnít fall, in case youíre wondering. What I did instead was, I reached out to steady myself. I had been reaching towards my face for some reasonóI guess itís just instinct at this point to cover my face when I sneeze. Anyway, because of some weird misfired signal, as I reached towards my face, then changed in mid-motion to brace myself, I ended up basically punching myself in the nose.
Not too hard, honestly. But when youíve been blowing your nose for two months straight, your nose can get a little messed up on the inside. Blood stared gushing from my nose in mesmerizing quantities. Like the stab scene in Hitchcockís Psycho.
And Iím still sneezing. Have you ever sneezed with a bloody nose? Because I hadnít. It looks like you just shot someone with a shotgun.
The bleeding eventually stopped, but the sneezing continued off and on as I washed down the shower. I felt like a killer cleaning up a murder scene. A perverted killer, of course, because I was still butt-naked and dripping water.
I dried off a bit and took out my contact lenses so that I could put some antihistamine drops in my eyes. In case you donít know me: Iím freaking blind without corrective lenses of some sort. I canít read the words on a whiskey bottle more than a foot away from my face. So I grab my glasses, and hear the sound of something strange bouncing across the bathroom floor. I put my glasses on to see what made the noise, only to discover that it was the left lens of my glasses.
So fresh out of the shower, still naked, crawling around on the floor looking for the lens. Outstanding.
I found it pretty quick, and then set to the task of finding my miniature glasses-fixing screwdriver. While I look for it, Iíve got my glasses on, and Iím holding the other lens up to my face like some sort of a freaktard pretending he has a monocle.
I finally find the screwdriver, get my glasses fixed, and get dressed. I sit down at my computer to do my homework, only to discover that my internet has died. The bastards at Time-Warner are telling me that my wireless router has picked today to die, and while it follows a certain logic that it would pick this exact moment to kick the bucket, I still canít believe Time-Warner.
So my face hurts, my homework remains unfinished, the internet in my office isnít working (the computer with the shitty Algebra software on it), and I canít breathe.
I had Frito pie for supper tonight, though, and that was awesome.
Plus, boiler-makers. Lotís of Ďem.