Ancrene Wiseass

A would-be medievalist holds forth on academia, teaching, gender politics, blogging, pop culture, critters, and whatever else comes her way.

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Location: United States

Yes, this really is yet another blog by a disillusioned grad student. I sympathize, but that's just the way it has to be. For hints as to what my bizarre alias means, click here and here and, if needed, here and here. To get a sense of what I'm up to, feel free to check out the sections called "Toward a Wiseass Creed" and "Showings: Some Introductory Wiseassery" in my main blog's left-hand sidebar. Please be aware that spamming, harassing, or otherwise obnoxious comments will be deleted and traced.

Monday, August 15, 2005

Things I have learned (or been reminded of)

1) Gatorade tastes a lot better than it used to. The grape and mango versions get a serious thumbs-up.
2) I am a needy little thing when I'm sick. And grumpy. I do not like being incapacitated, because it makes me scared. So I want somebody to tell me they love me and fuss over me and bring me stuff all the time. I suddenly become absolutely certain that I'm completely, existentially alone if I'm not getting somebody's attention whenever I happen to want it. It's pathetic, and knowing it's pathetic only makes me grumpier and needier.
3) I want a wife.*
4) Even having a low fever for three days in a row will tend to make a person temporarily incapable of simple acts like remembering her zip code and phone number. Which is terrifying.
5) At Big City U's student health care center, when given a choice among several unknown doctors and R.N.s, choose the R.N.s. They tend to be, on the whole, both more competent and more attentive than the doctors.
6) I may or may not have strep throat. The student health people are testing the lovely little swab sometime tomorrow morning, probably.
7) Icy Hot patches are, as I told Morgan (who turned me on to them last night) "the bomb-diggety." Who cares if you smell like an arthritic grandma? At least you can stop moving like one for a few hours.

*By the way, when I Googled to find the Judy Syfers essay I was referencing here, I found this first. Interesting.