So I keep forgetting to write things.
It’s not because I don’t have anything to write about. It’s just that I get all caught up in other things and forget to write a blog post.
Does this happen to you guys?
Alright, so I’m writing this with my left arm hanging semi-limply at my side because grad school made it hurt. Apparently you can work on a college campus all fine and dandy, but if you want to set foot in a classroom (for more than seven class periods), you have to go to the health center to prove that which you’ve known since 1978 (I’m immune to measles, mumps and rubella – but since my pediatrician has been dead for lo, these many years because he was 102 when I was four and I’m now 36, and since he didn’t sign my immunization record, I have to have blood drawn to make sure) and also to get the “Adult TDaP,” which was previously known as the DPT and which I also had plenty of when I was little. T, as you might guess, stands for tetanus and also Time To Lose the Use of Your Arm Because OW.
My second tetanus shot in eight freaking months. I’d rather have actual tetanus.
At least this time I remembered I had to have it in my left arm. I can’t sleep on my left side thanks to my jacked up cervical spine, and back in February, when I tried to hack my finger off with a steak knife, I let them give me the tetanus shot in my right arm, like a dumbass. After I got it again yesterday, a lot of things got kind of hurty, like my very bottom rear right side rib, my eyeballs, my neck, my head and something in my chestal region.
Some of that might have been a hangover from a pretty epic weekend. But mostly I think it was the shot.
In case some of you are wondering: I’ve had to draw a line with The Colombian. You might recall that, a month ago, he tried to beso me and then we had a conversation about how he “technically” still had a girlfriend and that probably wasn’t a good thing for her or me. Yesterday he invited himself over for Monday Night Football again, and as he was getting ready to leave, I asked him about the situation.
“Suuuuu…” he started.
“No,” I said. “Do you have a girlfriend or not?”
“We haffen’ talked aboud it,” he said. “We jes don’t see each ahther mush now. I habben’ seen her in…” (he thinks) “…nine dayce.”
“So you still have a girlfriend. You haven’t broken up.”
“So why are you here?” I asked gently, with a smile.
“Because I want to be here,” he smiled a bit shamefully.
“Javier,” I said with a sweet smile to belie my Bullshit Meter’s reading. “You can’t ask me to hang out one-on-one if you haven’t ended it with her.”
“Okay,” he said, standing up, seeming embarrassed.
“it’s not fair,” I smiled up at him, head tilted, hair tumbling over my shoulder. “Right?”
“Okay,” he said.
“I don’t know what to do with it,” I said as he hugged me goodbye.
Trying to apply lessons learned. It sucks. But I know I’m right. I’m totally right. No me gusta, but fish or cut bait, amigo.