Typical Night For You

   It's that kind of night. The kind of night where you're stuck in an ER waiting room, filling out forms telling a*****e doctors your medical history. The receptionist, and everyone else for that matter, think you're either half baked or half drunk. Or both. Which, in mathematical terms, would equal one loser. You think you've had a seizure or something, but you're no doctor, so that's exactly why you're here. That's what you told the receptionist, anyway, and the only reply was an eyebrow raise and a clipboard with such medical forms to be filled out.
   After about thirty minutes, or three hours, they take you into such a small room you start to understand why your best friend is claustrophobic. The nurse asks you to rate how you're feeling, health wise, on a chart from 1 to 10. If it was emotionally, you'd rank a wallowing, self pitying 1. But physically, you're dizzy, nauseous, and can feel your heart pounding in your ears. You also want to die. But, not wanting to sound like a wimp, you say an 8. The nurse hums faux sympathy, and you feel sicker than you did before. she asks you to piss into a cup, and you obey, not wanting to seem like an a*s by refusing. Doctors tell you that your white blood count is high, and that you might've had something called a fainting spell. They don't even try to sound interested about what's wrong with your sorry a*s.
   Another long wait later, you emerge from the hospital with a bottle of pills and no better health than when you came in. Hooray. Your phone rings, and it's one of your friends asking if you want to part-ay, as they put it. You can either:
  A) Screw your medical condition and go party
  B) Go home and rest, being the loser you are.
   Despite the more tempting option being A, you choose B, and go home to watch some TV. There's only reruns of The Office, which you have seen a billion times, an old movie that you only want to see while fully baked, and wrestling. You turn off the TV and see if you can read anything. Unfortunately, you're so dizzy and fucked up that the words blur together. You go back to the TV and watch The Office until the doorbell rings.
    It's your ex, trashed and wanting to get back together. It's tempting, but yet again, you choose the morally right option and slam the door in their rather large nose. You immediately regret it, and open the door again to apologize and hope for some make up make out. But your ex is passed out on the hallway floor. The landlord won't like that, but who cares about him? You decide that home is boring, so you step over your ex's body, and get into your car. The radio is on, and it's a really good song, so you sing along even though you're not sure what the lyrics are. You drive to the grocery store, where you smell shampoo bottles and read the magazines with f*****g Taylor Swift on the cover. Being bored, you decide to go to whoever's party it was, even though you are still dizzy and puke-sick.
   The party is the same as the hospital, with people vomiting and whining everywhere. Your friend is making out with a member of the same sex, while somehow managing to drink a beer. You pick up a beer and take a cautious sip, even though your doc advised not to. You immediately vomit on some chick's shoes, and she gives you the 'I'm better than you, freak' look that you've grown used to over the years. You feel like you're about to have another fainting spell, and do. You hit the table on the way down, and the world is black again. You wake up again only two seconds later, to throw up again. You remember you have a bottle of pills in your jacket pocket, and stuff two in your mouth, and wash it down with some tap water from the sink. The water tastes gross, and you curse your weak stomach when you puke yet again. You want to go home, and you get in your car.
    You're still dizzy, and suddenly the road isn't so stable. Everything is spinning. You turn the wheel madly, trying to regain control. You crash into a nearby tree, your head meeting the airbag. Another black out.
    That's exactly how you ended up at the ER for the second time in the last three hours.
   It's just that kind of night.
   

Author's Note

It's just another ramble.

Reviews

[Bella-Marie]

A good ramble, though. A funny ramble. Made me laugh, although it's not funny. I like this sort of writing. You're very good at it.