Well it's been over five months since I've posted a journal entry, I'm thinking it's probably time to make up a summary of what I've been up to.. for almost half a year.


In general, things have just been floating along. There's truly no other way to describe the last few months for me.

Hanging out with my boyfriend on the weekends between my and his work schedule, sneaking into a bunch of movies with my friends during the week, hiding from the cops in a forest in the freezing cold, getting away with some things but getting caught with others, typical teenage activities.

What I think is a little atypical is the events of last Tuesday, though.

I'm sitting in my Personal Family Development class, blowing my work off and just kindof chilling out with my friends at the far end of the classroom. Straightening our hair, eating chips, gossiping, the works. My phone starts vibrating in my pocket, and it's my mother calling me to let me know that she and my little sister had gotten into a car crash not even a block away from where I live. They were okay, just really badly bruised, with some burns on their necks and shoulders from the seat belt friction.

Well damn, isn't that just a bitch.
But life moves on, my mom and sister could have died in that car crash, I'm just grateful that they didn't.


Tuesday was also coincidentally Free Pancake Day at IHOP, and I swear to god I've never seen that place so packed. I rang up over 350 checks in the six hours that I worked.
But as the end of my shift approached, I felt tight, tense pains in my legs, to a point that the pain made me light headed and nauseous. About three or four days before, I had noticed these two crazy big red bumps on my legs, but for some ridiculous reason I got it into my head that they would go away on their own. (I say ridiculous because each one was about 5 inches in diameter.) I'm not too sure what I was thinking or why I was reluctant to have someone take a look at it, but my breaking point was Tuesday night.

I clocked out at 10, limped out to my mom's rental car, broke down in tears and told her about my pains. We got home, I showed her the raised bumps on my legs and her jaw pretty much dropped to the floor. Fifteen minutes later I was laying on a bed in the ER, with an old arabian doctor hovering over my body with multiple needles and scalpels of all shapes and sizes.

I have, hands-down, the BIGGEST phobia of needles and knives that anyone has ever heard of. You can only imagine my hysteria when that fat nurse bitch rolled in a cart piled high with them, and you can only imagine how much I flailed around and screamed bloody murder when that old man played scrapbook with my swollen legs. The doc told me I had a pretty beastly staph infection in both of my legs, and that the way they fix this problem is by slicing open the infected area and squeezing the shit out of it until all the pus and other disgusting fluids drain out of it. He also let me know that this procedure would require 7 shots, and two 1-inch incisions on my body. I wanted to punch that little man in the face.

Be that as it may, I did not punch that little man. I limped out of that place around midnight, but before my arm could touch the door the receptionist at the front desk calls out from behind me, "I could hear you screaming! Oh you poor little girl, bless your heart!"

Great. I bet they could hear me all the way in Canada.

I skipped three days of school and two days of work, and I started walking without any help on Friday, which was freakin' sweet.
My cuts are still open and when they close there will forever be a scar.
Ah well, it's a story to tell.