Mon 10 March 2008
Song of the Day: Tokyo Police Club – Tessellate. Get it while it's hot, guys – it won't be '08 forever...
Unlike MM, who appears to be aceing this stuff, I'm even more behind in maths than usual following a workless weekend, and now in the shit at home to boot. Friday's house party turned into a massive dogshow about halfway through and I made the mistake of letting some big rugby players mix me drinks all night. I was fine until I had to get up for a piss and by then I realized I was in trouble, but of course when you finally figure out that you're slurring it's already too late.
I'll admit I didn't know one person could puke so much and actually still live. I say that because – and I'm not joking – I managed to lose almost four kilograms since Friday night, according to the scale at the gym. I threw up all over the fucking place. Nothing where it shouldn't be – at least, not on the carpets or floors so nobody had to clean up after me; not sure those flowerbeds are going to be productive for too much longer, though – but I prayed to the porcelain gods at home for pretty much nineteen hours between 11pm Friday and 6pm Saturday. Mom's anger – and dad's unofficial hilarity; not helping an already tenuous period of domestic jockeying – at me daring to arrive home in "that state" had changed to concern when I still couldn't even keep half a glass of water down by lunchtime, and I'm pretty sure she only didn't kill me because she thought God would do me in first. Hell, I thought I was dying; in between the sweats and stomach cramps all I could think about was hanging on and not kicking the bucket until I shag something (MM, where are you?). Note I did say something, and not necessarily someone – this is indicative of my current level of desperation. I blame American teen sex-comedy films about baked goods for this anguish; and for once I identify, and sympathise, with Australian and Welsh farmers.
Nevertheless, destroying my reputation and my imminent near-death aside, I appear to have been quite the Belle of the Ball – at least, the male equivalent; the (shaven) Balls of the Ball, perhaps? – and my antics and escapades will live on in my new nickname, Flyweight Charley. I suspect this reference is related to how little of me is left following the amount of mass I lost via the Mystical Art of Being Violently Ill into the Koi Pond. For once, the pre-class talk was all about me and Trevor had to suck it up and just listen. I'm sure in my own way I was Sticking it to the Man. Alas, not Sticking it into MM. I have really got to find out this guy's name.
Oh shit – I didn't do the Cell Bio assignment and it's due in half an hour.
-F.C <------ note /proud