ding!

Since I've stayed home sick for the past two days now, my parents have been hounding me to go to bed since they arrived home at 5:30 p.m., even though I didn't wake up till noon today and slept for, according to my lessening ability to perform arithmetic, thirteen hours. It could be more, it could be less. I keep remembering how I was sick earlier this year in February, and for what must have been thirty minutes, I tried to use trigonometry to find the measure of a right angle. Anyway, this morning after I crawled back into bed I had another slew of odd dreams. In one, this group of people and I were fighting off hordes of straight-faced, pale-skinned midgets with wispy blonde hair with a liquid that strangely resembled milk. I think this dream took root last night around 4:30 p.m. when Pat and I watched half of "The Daily Show," and in the previews for the next day's show, Jon Stewart announced that a man would be interviewed who claimed milk, otherwise known as "white death," was the cause of every known fatal ailment. For the remainder of the night I hissed "white death" at random and busted up laughing. So then I had a dream about albino children. It's only the next logical step. I had other dreams, too, but I don't remember most of them. I simply have false memories of calling Nick and knowing what homework was assigned on Tuesday.

Today Pat came over again, and he drove to the grocery store to buy me a jug of orange juice and assorted muffins. I had to accompany him to the video rental store, since my Blockbuster card isn't registered under his name, whereupon Pat suggested we rent "The Green Mile." The circus mouse that could roll spools of yarn lived, so I decided that I liked it. My parents came home near the end, and my mom was apparently hurt by the fact that as soon as she walked in the door, I "slammed" the family room doors shut (my parents always bustle in after work and chatter amongst themselves, which can greatly sour the climax of a film). She told me that if I was well enough to have Pat over, I was well enough to go to school, even though Pat sat in a chair two feet away from me and we practically didn't speak for the entire course of the three-hour-plus movie. My mom and dad both agreed that it was unheard of to have "company" over while ill. I found it cold that they would call Pat "company," considering I've known him almost five years, he moved to Minnesota from California for the sole purpose of living near me, and I plan to marry him once I graduate from high school. Regardless, my mom threw on her coat in a flurry of melodrama, announcing that she was leaving and she didn't know when she'd be back, and she slammed the door behind her after snarling, "See you tomorrow."

She came home an hour later carrying a sack of groceries.

Anyway, before I started typing out this entry I threw back a shot of NyQuil to serve an egg timer as to when I should go to bed.

Goodnight.