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hathycolGaaaaah. Have gone past a Wibble Moment and into a full Wibble Morning.
(For those that care, Wibble is an official technical term, or at least it is in my twisted world. Ever see Blackadder, the final episode? Apart from the traumatising part, theres a rather funny bit where he tries to look insane, puts his underpants on his head and says Wibble a lot to imply insanity. Therefore, when it all goes wrong, it's a Wibble Moment. Voila!)
Last night, as you may see from my heavily-edited-with-no-pretty-pictures-anymore journal entries, it all went a bit wrong, but I figured it was one of those things. This morning also started to go heavily wrong. Minor viral infection which I've been suffering for the past week but kept quiet (I hate being ill, as ma mere always attempts to take me to the doctor. And doctor scares me. Is quite psychic about symptoms. You go in, sit down. "You're suffering from a sore throat." "Erm... yes... also getting a bad..." "Chest, yes right. And how are the headaches?" Considering I hasn't mentioned the headaches to anyone yet, scared me slightly) in the hope it would go away. I wasn't actually that ill. Slightly warmer than usual, coughed, stomach pain. Fairly healthy. So, hoped it would go away. It does, a lot. But noooooooooo. Apparently went slightly mad overnight (I don't remember ANY of this, btw) in which at 4am I woke up, wandered around the house clattering a lot of stuff until Dad came down to find me looking for the bathroom for... something. I don't know what. Apparently I didn't say.
Anyhow, during my sleepwalking/hallucinatory dream/possession (it's one of the three, I'm sure) Dad used his brain (mon pere est l'infermiere! C'est nul, quelquefois) and asked me how I was feeling. Apparently I went on for a while that I wasn't well. Dad took me back to bed, and when I woke up this morning, Mum was glaring at me.
"So you're not well?"
"A little..."
She proceeds to tell me events on night.
"Oh..."
"So will you stay off today?"
"No."
"Fine!"
So went to get ready for school. Was ready, had paracetamol, feeling marignally chipper (what a word).... then chose that moment to knock glasses off bed. Glasses now bent a bit and all icky. Quite patheticly, went downstairs to Mum.
"I'M DISEASED AND NOW I'M BLIND TOO!"
"Yes, and your skin lookes terrible this morning too."
"..."
So, have conceded defeat, and am now at home. Diseasd, blind, and with possible leprosy (that could just be my bad skin day). Pass me a bell, I have to walk around shouting "UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!" with a begging bowl. Am going to doctors when mum can be arsed booking an appointment. Why didn't all this happen when I was 8 and went to Primary school NON-STOP and now I'm doing a GCSE, I finally get ill?
WIBBLE!!
(For those that care, Wibble is an official technical term, or at least it is in my twisted world. Ever see Blackadder, the final episode? Apart from the traumatising part, theres a rather funny bit where he tries to look insane, puts his underpants on his head and says Wibble a lot to imply insanity. Therefore, when it all goes wrong, it's a Wibble Moment. Voila!)
Last night, as you may see from my heavily-edited-with-no-pretty-pictures-anymore journal entries, it all went a bit wrong, but I figured it was one of those things. This morning also started to go heavily wrong. Minor viral infection which I've been suffering for the past week but kept quiet (I hate being ill, as ma mere always attempts to take me to the doctor. And doctor scares me. Is quite psychic about symptoms. You go in, sit down. "You're suffering from a sore throat." "Erm... yes... also getting a bad..." "Chest, yes right. And how are the headaches?" Considering I hasn't mentioned the headaches to anyone yet, scared me slightly) in the hope it would go away. I wasn't actually that ill. Slightly warmer than usual, coughed, stomach pain. Fairly healthy. So, hoped it would go away. It does, a lot. But noooooooooo. Apparently went slightly mad overnight (I don't remember ANY of this, btw) in which at 4am I woke up, wandered around the house clattering a lot of stuff until Dad came down to find me looking for the bathroom for... something. I don't know what. Apparently I didn't say.
Anyhow, during my sleepwalking/hallucinatory dream/possession (it's one of the three, I'm sure) Dad used his brain (mon pere est l'infermiere! C'est nul, quelquefois) and asked me how I was feeling. Apparently I went on for a while that I wasn't well. Dad took me back to bed, and when I woke up this morning, Mum was glaring at me.
"So you're not well?"
"A little..."
She proceeds to tell me events on night.
"Oh..."
"So will you stay off today?"
"No."
"Fine!"
So went to get ready for school. Was ready, had paracetamol, feeling marignally chipper (what a word).... then chose that moment to knock glasses off bed. Glasses now bent a bit and all icky. Quite patheticly, went downstairs to Mum.
"I'M DISEASED AND NOW I'M BLIND TOO!"
"Yes, and your skin lookes terrible this morning too."
"..."
So, have conceded defeat, and am now at home. Diseasd, blind, and with possible leprosy (that could just be my bad skin day). Pass me a bell, I have to walk around shouting "UNCLEAN! UNCLEAN!" with a begging bowl. Am going to doctors when mum can be arsed booking an appointment. Why didn't all this happen when I was 8 and went to Primary school NON-STOP and now I'm doing a GCSE, I finally get ill?
WIBBLE!!
