salience
February 4, 2005
I knew it. I was feeling a precursor, some preemptive premonition that something would happen. But I went through last weekend as planned, claro.
Damon's Bomb Squad rocked Harper's Ferry. For all you band kids who aren't yet twenty one, buy his cds. His shirts even. These guys rocked the entire place. Their opening band was from UMASS Lowell... And as much as I feel sorry for them, I do not want to hear the same two songs presented in different ways for an hour set, gracias. We were all up front for the last part of the show. Damon threw his disposable camera offstage to Pooks, geez that's what the girls in the mod call Alex, now I'm doing it too apparently, who took pictures of him playing his suave auxilliary percussion. The drummer was this awesome black guy; he and Damon were having so much fun. There was much dancing and even two Latin groove enjoyments with Alex. We saw the band faculty there. Kristen, assistant director of BC Bands, my girl-I-was-drum-major-too-and-I-played-clarinet walked past me, literally, at one point. My heart was broken. How can I be that transparent?? Hmph. Yet it was pointed out that she probably wasn't too sober. Still, ouch. They played for almost two hours, everyone just loving it. Afterwards we took pictures. Happy Belated Twenty One to Jack and what have you. And that was that.
Saturday was a long day of music intentions and JenMirski's Twenty One. Lots of fiesta plans, more intentions in fact. Yet, had to wait for Alex while he was changing out some equipment for Spataro Slick, so that ended up being not too fantastic.
Sunday saw "Alone in the Dark." Although I love Christian Slater, I do NOT love Tara Reid. And man, that movie was horrible. Borderline "Dawn of the Dead" wannabe with some situations, but no way can a museum curator and a half monster of true evil save the world...
Monday comes and it's lunes. Office morning as usual, and then all of a sudden I'm in the bano, snarfing up anything I try to eat. Even water. Convulsing... And my mind is racing, did I eat something funny this weekend?? Nope. I slept. Que pasa?? And I even leave work a little early 'cause I know I'm going to feel so carsick driving home this way, but I'm so hungry. And it doesn't stop when I get back to the mod. Anything food related: smells, hunger pains, spelling comida in my mind: f-o-o-d, and I'm snarfing the phleghm.
And: for the first time in three years, I did not go to concert band rehearsal. And music is, has been, my extracurricular V.I.D.A. My world was collapsing, the apocalypse had to be near.
Next morning I decide to head back to the grandma nurses in search of answers. Stop this snarf compulsion, why am I dying?? A result of stomach virus/flu/strep throat-ish discoveries landed me in locked down BC Infirmary observation.
And just for the record, I loathe any institution remotely resembling a hospital.
But my friends made it all bearable. Alex showed up minutes later, grasping at anything to make me feel better. I'm lying in a hospital bed, trying to ignore the fact that I am where illness is tangible and recorded, and he's gone with promises to be back in a bit, he just needs to yeah... And he's out the door. Not twenty minutes later he's back in the doorway with my laundry bag, stuffed with things from my room. My computer was being fixed in the Service Building, conveniently next to the Infirmary. He brought all my computer cables for when it was ready, my animales the pollo and the vaquita, my PNPN hat, every cd I own and my discman, and books: "LOTR" and "Diary." He brought me payamas and lotion. Suddenly my side of the room looked lived in, not so sickly sanitized. Florita and Shell brought me a coloring book, crayons, colored pencils, and "Motorcycle Diaries." I snuck out at one point to do order my graduation announcements, a "BC Bookstore Special: You Must Order These NOW or You Lose." I took a shower, got some toothpate, toothbrush and deoderant. And yeah I had to stay, but at least I was living there.
After three nights, my fever is gone. My flu symptons are gone. My snarf impulse has evaporated. But the strep: I have a "Non Group A" raw grapefruit of a disease remaining in the left side of my throat. Mr. Flashlight Doctor said I am borderline mono, bringing me handful after handful of penicillin and strict rules for diet and life plus a prescription for Darvacet. I am welcome to come back, the nurses will miss the pollo and the vaquita.
But I missed the mod laughs and the True-Life-I'm-a-college-student-in-Boston excursions. And the Edwin McCain forced scream alongs by Florita. And I needed the reminder. Slow down, take it easy. This is it before you're Grown Up. Old. Aging in the Real World.
Oh, and while it was borderline creepy, using the year anniversary of your muerte, your burial and the accompanying mariachi formalities was a nice touch, yes. But thank you grandma, I've missed you and your jokes.
Damon's Bomb Squad rocked Harper's Ferry. For all you band kids who aren't yet twenty one, buy his cds. His shirts even. These guys rocked the entire place. Their opening band was from UMASS Lowell... And as much as I feel sorry for them, I do not want to hear the same two songs presented in different ways for an hour set, gracias. We were all up front for the last part of the show. Damon threw his disposable camera offstage to Pooks, geez that's what the girls in the mod call Alex, now I'm doing it too apparently, who took pictures of him playing his suave auxilliary percussion. The drummer was this awesome black guy; he and Damon were having so much fun. There was much dancing and even two Latin groove enjoyments with Alex. We saw the band faculty there. Kristen, assistant director of BC Bands, my girl-I-was-drum-major-too-and-I-played-clarinet walked past me, literally, at one point. My heart was broken. How can I be that transparent?? Hmph. Yet it was pointed out that she probably wasn't too sober. Still, ouch. They played for almost two hours, everyone just loving it. Afterwards we took pictures. Happy Belated Twenty One to Jack and what have you. And that was that.
Saturday was a long day of music intentions and JenMirski's Twenty One. Lots of fiesta plans, more intentions in fact. Yet, had to wait for Alex while he was changing out some equipment for Spataro Slick, so that ended up being not too fantastic.
Sunday saw "Alone in the Dark." Although I love Christian Slater, I do NOT love Tara Reid. And man, that movie was horrible. Borderline "Dawn of the Dead" wannabe with some situations, but no way can a museum curator and a half monster of true evil save the world...
Monday comes and it's lunes. Office morning as usual, and then all of a sudden I'm in the bano, snarfing up anything I try to eat. Even water. Convulsing... And my mind is racing, did I eat something funny this weekend?? Nope. I slept. Que pasa?? And I even leave work a little early 'cause I know I'm going to feel so carsick driving home this way, but I'm so hungry. And it doesn't stop when I get back to the mod. Anything food related: smells, hunger pains, spelling comida in my mind: f-o-o-d, and I'm snarfing the phleghm.
And: for the first time in three years, I did not go to concert band rehearsal. And music is, has been, my extracurricular V.I.D.A. My world was collapsing, the apocalypse had to be near.
Next morning I decide to head back to the grandma nurses in search of answers. Stop this snarf compulsion, why am I dying?? A result of stomach virus/flu/strep throat-ish discoveries landed me in locked down BC Infirmary observation.
And just for the record, I loathe any institution remotely resembling a hospital.
But my friends made it all bearable. Alex showed up minutes later, grasping at anything to make me feel better. I'm lying in a hospital bed, trying to ignore the fact that I am where illness is tangible and recorded, and he's gone with promises to be back in a bit, he just needs to yeah... And he's out the door. Not twenty minutes later he's back in the doorway with my laundry bag, stuffed with things from my room. My computer was being fixed in the Service Building, conveniently next to the Infirmary. He brought all my computer cables for when it was ready, my animales the pollo and the vaquita, my PNPN hat, every cd I own and my discman, and books: "LOTR" and "Diary." He brought me payamas and lotion. Suddenly my side of the room looked lived in, not so sickly sanitized. Florita and Shell brought me a coloring book, crayons, colored pencils, and "Motorcycle Diaries." I snuck out at one point to do order my graduation announcements, a "BC Bookstore Special: You Must Order These NOW or You Lose." I took a shower, got some toothpate, toothbrush and deoderant. And yeah I had to stay, but at least I was living there.
After three nights, my fever is gone. My flu symptons are gone. My snarf impulse has evaporated. But the strep: I have a "Non Group A" raw grapefruit of a disease remaining in the left side of my throat. Mr. Flashlight Doctor said I am borderline mono, bringing me handful after handful of penicillin and strict rules for diet and life plus a prescription for Darvacet. I am welcome to come back, the nurses will miss the pollo and the vaquita.
But I missed the mod laughs and the True-Life-I'm-a-college-student-in-Boston excursions. And the Edwin McCain forced scream alongs by Florita. And I needed the reminder. Slow down, take it easy. This is it before you're Grown Up. Old. Aging in the Real World.
Oh, and while it was borderline creepy, using the year anniversary of your muerte, your burial and the accompanying mariachi formalities was a nice touch, yes. But thank you grandma, I've missed you and your jokes.
lasaliente, 21:56
