Things Come in Threes

I woke Saturday morning with a jolt, not because of the usual beep of my alarm clock, but because, upon looking at my cell phone for the time, I realized that my alarm had not, in fact been set, and that I was running twenty minutes late. I jumped out of bed, put on my crappy pants, my crappy shoes, and a crappy shirt and sweatshirt, and bolted out the door.

Where, you may be wondering, was I going in such a rush? Not to work. Heavens no. It was a Saturday, after all. No, I was off to do a service project. I loved doing service for other people, and I'd missed the last three projects, but I wasn't going to miss this one, no sir.

I drove out of my apartment complex and onto 100th, only to realize seconds later that I didn't have my directions in my purse. About face! I retrieved my directions and was off again. This time I was able to make it to my destination just fine, but my gas light did come on once or twice.

Upon arriving to the place where the service project was to be held, I greeted my friends, put on my gloves, and got to work. I began by clearing branches that had been cut from a spruce tree and put them into a trailer. Then, when all branches had been cleared, I located a rake and began raking out the leaves and brush and weeds that were underneath the tree. Suddenly, I felt an odd, pricking sensation just above my right hip bone. "Oh," I thought. "There must be a pine needle stuck in my shirt." So, I lifted my sweatshirt, and looked around for the needle, but I couldn't find it. Even as I searched, the stinging sensation grew.

Cautiously, I lifted the edge of my shirt, and there, small, yellow, and monstrous was a winged foe...whether it was bee, wasp, or hornet, I am unsure. Whatever it was, it was causing me curious amounts of discomfort, and I brushed it away feeling a little bemused. I'd never been stung by anything before, so I stood there, waiting to see what sort of effect it would have on me.

The sensation was not pleasant. It stung, and the skin around the bite swelled into a welt, and turned red in a circle that was at least two inches across. "How odd," I thought, and I got back to work. Within minutes, however, the sensation was back again, this time a little higher up on my waist. I lifted my shirt higher, and found yet another winged beastie taking the mickey out of my skin. I brushed it away, and then, feeling a little distressed, I walked as slowly and calmly as possible to my car, whimpering as I walked, and when I was safely out of the eyesight of my fellow service project-ers, I took off my shirts. Low and behold, there were three more wasp things in my shirt, just waiting to get me. So, I did the inhumane thing, and squished them.

I went back to the service project, after calling my mother distressedly for advice on how to fix the pain. I took some ibuprofen, and got to work, making sure to stay clear of the spruce tree. A couple hours later, after I had successfully helped to pack many bags full of leaves, branches, and unwanted plant life, I looked back at the spruce tree. Things still needed to be done. I saw a friend of mine working over there, and I decided to stop being a coward and go help him out. So, I did. And I was getting quite a bit done. I did warn my friend, though, that if I saw a bee I might have to behave like a five-year-old and run away screaming.

I never got the chance.

Ha! It's not what you think. You're probably thinking, oh good...she didn't see any more bees. Wonderful.

Peachy, I know.

If only it were true.

I never saw the bee, mostly because it was on the back of my cranium. And, yes, it stung me. A friend pulled the bee out of my hair, after I had personally smashed most of it into my head.

So, at the end of the day, I left dirty, and stung. Not once. Not twice. But, thrice.

Things come in threes, do they not?

Got over the sickness...obviously.

Talking is a good thing in which to engage. Speech is a wonderful form of communication, but not the only form of communication. There are those that feel as though the only way to get a point across is through verbal speech. WRONG-O! Have you ever given someone a hug? Held their hand? Kissed them? High five! Wink. Dance. Smile. Frown. Furrow your brow. Throw your arms up in dejection. Throw your arms up in excitement. HELLO! Body language is very, very, very! IMPORTANT!

So, the next time you snuggle with someone, keep in mind that, although you're not saying it aloud...you're doing some communication. You're saying...something...and what that something is can only be defined by YOU!

The end.

The Healing Process

I'm sick. I've finally decided that this sore throat, constant coughing, and running nose have something to do with the fact that I have, in fact, been inflicted with some sort of contagion. I do believe they call this the "common" cold.

I'm trying to fall asleep, but I'm finding the process rather difficult. You see, I have taken the necessary drugs and vitamins to help soothe, if not forgive the trespasses of whatever little germ is inside my body, and I have a roll of toilet paper, and a waste basket in reach for my nose. I have a glass of water if I start to cough, and I can pretty much guarantee that I will. I am wearing sweatpants, thick, knee high socks, a t-shirt, and a hooded sweatshirt, with the hood over my head. I've added a giant blanket and a woolen blanket to the comforter that I am accustomed to sleeping under. I plan on sweating it out tonight. However, I don't know if I'll ever be able to sleep...I'm too uncomfortable. Sort of.

I get claustrophobic very easily. To be under covers with so great an assortment of clothings as I currently have upon my person is causing me to feel very claustrophobic. I just need to take a deep breath and close my eyes...

Except that, I can't fall asleep.

They tell me that warm milk helps. Too bad I'm lactose intollerant.

The only thing that helps me fall asleep is to rotate in a circle to some soft, quite music. That's right. I dance when I can't sleep. It's kind of nice. Very relaxing.

Either way, just writing about the act is making me sleepy. I think I'll try it. Sleeping, I mean.

Peace.

My first...blog?

There have been many firsts for me in my life: My first date, my first kiss, my first scholarship, my first apartment, my first vacuum (almost...)! For the first time yesterday, I bought myself, of my own accord, vitamins. Vitamins! For those of you who have just embarked on that crazed voyage they call "adulthood" you know just as well as I that there are just some things that prove to you that you are no longer under your parents' wings...vitamins, and the purchase thereof, are just one of those things. Proof that I am no longer a baby girl. I'm a big girl.

I must admit, never in my life did I think of, much less aspire to, having a blog. So, this is a first for me as well. My first blog...now, I must put forth a very important question:

Who in their right mind decided to call what are essentially online diaries such a loathsome and rather unappealing name as a "blog?" I mean, really? Here we are, putting forth our ideas, our thoughts, our...well, whatever, and they decided to give those musings such an distasteful title as blog...by all means, when I hear the word, I think simultaneously of amphibians, and the act of regurgitation. The word lacks any grace, tact, or art. (And yes, words are an art form, to be played with and configured.)

Anyway, all I'm trying to say is that I think the word is ugly. If one were to make up a word...well, it would be prettier, that's for dang sure. Heavens to Betsy, it would be down right lovely!

Ha ha...well...there you have it.

My first blog.

The End.