Everything was fine when I woke up this morning. I was a little sleepy, but that's normal. I fell asleep at my desk during first period, which I usually hate doing, because then I wake up covered in drool and with large red spots, and sometimes even the outline of a book's spine, on my face and arms, with all the teachers staring at me and then, later, feeling free to ask me a million times if I'm still sleepy: "Ngantuk? Ngantuk? Ngantuk?"
But then, somewhere around third period, I got sick. I had to dash to the bathroom during two of my classes, leaving the students happily "writing dialogues," which, without constant teacher supervision, was probably closer to "running around wildly and/or texting friends in other classes." In between classes, I dozed in the school nurse's office, and eventually I just skipped my last class, unable to pull myself off the cot where I had been curled up in stomach pain for the last hour. In the hour that followed the end of school, I cancelled plans with a friend, two months in the making, that I was actually looking forward to; forgot the motorcycle helmet I borrowed from the servants at school; dragged myself, in a pained and almost crouching way, through the roughly 100 students on the school bus to take my seat in the front; spent half an hour on the bus trying not to think about how sick I felt; after said half hour, threw up out the window of the bus, while it was moving, in front of all those students, and, what's more, at the busiest intersection in town; stumbled off the bus to throw up several more times into a potted plant by the side of the road; didn't look where I was going and so got hit on the top of the head by one of those bars that raise and lower to admit cars to a parking lot*; and, finally, standing in the lobby of the second swankiest hotel in town, with one hand clutching the enormous swollen lump on my head and the other covered in my own vomit, broke down sobbing.
Things got a little better after that. I came home, changed into my houseclothes, a nightie covered in frogs and the slogan "Toadily Cool," which I paid $6 for because I couldn't resist the pun, and turned on a movie. After crying my way through "Mystic River," I fell asleep for about five hours**, and somehow got the energy to eat some white rice and head to the internet cafe.
So yeah. Today was um, not great. I don't think even Alexander can compete***.
*to make this even more embarrassing, or maybe just more infuriating, the bar wasn't automatic. You'd think the operator could have, I don't know, raised it when he saw me coming.
**throwing up really takes it out of you. Ha!
***to be honest, I haven't read the book since I was really little. Maybe he can. But before you decide, you should see the size of the bump on my head.