You know when you have one of those days where everything goes so wrong that by 9:30 AM you’re crying angry tears and questioning whether you’ll make it without killing anyone by the end of the day? I just had one of those days. It was actually in the making for about a week, and it all came crashing down on me with the spill of a protein shake. Let’s rewind to my ear infection: remember I wrote about all the ear pain, jaw pain, antibiotics and painkillers? Well after that I got my period. Like, it was full on Carrie down there, with debilitating cramps and a feeling that someone had actually tried to murder my uterus in my sleep. As if both an ear infection and excruciating uterus weren’t enough, the universe handed me a UTI. If you don’t know what that is or what it feels like, imagine constantly feeling like you have to pee, and then when you finally do, you pee out shards of glass that reflect your anguish. To fix it, the doctors give you antibiotics and painkillers that make your pee look like iodine. I had been to the Health Center so many times in that week I wouldn’t be surprised if they knew my order by now (“Nice to see you again, Carly. Your usual drug cocktail of antibiotics?”). I’m probably listed in some file under “Students Who Are Possible Drug Addicts.”
With a new batch of medication, I hungrily ingested the painkillers hoping to dissipate the pain that occupied pretty much every orifice, and in that short moment between taking painkillers and feeling the effects, I was a mess. I woke up late for class, realized that I forgot to pay my rent the day before, and guzzled Cranberry juice like it was nobody’s business (I hate Cranberry juice). Frazzled, angry, and in sweatpants, I delivered my rent check in person and the bubble-gum chewing barbie doll at the front desk informed me that because it was late, they would only accept a money order or cashier’s check. I don’t even know what those are. It was then that I spilled a protein shake all over myself, my books, and my glasses case. And then I started to cry.
It’s true they say there’s a hot math teacher at the end of every pain-riddled tunnel. After a week of shitty, shitty things, I met someone. A twenty-seven-year old sweet, understanding, cute, tall, nerdy, intelligent someone. He’s responsible, and caring, and pays his own bills. And the best part of all is he’s a high school math teacher. You know the song Don’t Stand So Close To Me by the Police? I daydreamed to that song in class. And after all my horribly awkward first dates, this first date was awesome. We met at a tennis meetup and for our first date we were in sweaty gym clothes and ate burgers, which I loved because he saw me looking my absolute worst and still wanted to go out with me. (It was the first time I could say with conviction, “Hey guess what, I swear I have real clothes and practice hygiene”). He didn’t try to kiss me on the first date (which I love), and I’ve never been more honest with someone after knowing them for two weeks. Plus, we have a scary amount of things in common. So, yeah. My week sucked. But I’m dating a fucking teacher and he loves to cuddle. Life is good.