My birthday proved to be a most enjoyable one, orthodontist and all.
I regret to report that seventeen doesn’t feel much different than sixteen. I however choose to believe that this means that I possess more knowledge and wisdom. I just brim with all that good stuff.
I made out like a vandal, among my presents being the only one that I truly desired; the Canon 30D. Well, sort of. I got the much needed approval from my mother to go ahead and make the much anticipated purchase. The only stipulation being that I have to muster all the patience that I possibly can and order it after Mexico.
Mexico is only a mere three days away. Today was my final day of school before our grand departure, and a much dreaded one.
It was hell. Complete and utter hell, courtesy of my band teacher. He was irate that I missed a band rehearsal last night, a rehearsal missed because of the reservations my mother had made at the restaurant. It was my birthday, after all. I didn’t just go on a whim and decide hey, tonight would be a great night to NOT go to band rehearsal.
He was enraged further when he learnt that I would miss another one next week when I am in Mexico.
Today he was a prick not only to me, but to my mother (who had called him to explain very politely why I did not attend band rehearsal), as well. It’s one thing to treat me like shit, but quite another to FUCK WIT MY MAMA.
I had my MRI today. Results can be expected next week, but that is of course when we are in Mexico.
Oh the hardships.
The appointment in itself wasn’t terrible. The worst of it was the gown. I’m not even entirely sure it can be given the privilege of being called a gown. The gown-like material barely covered my ass, and in an effort to remain decent, I walked around holding the cloth over my butt. It was alluring, I assure you.
The machine was incredibly loud and made a series of interesting sounds. I’m not sure that the technician was expecting to be told by a sixteen year old that the MRI machine ’sounds like the Twilight Zone.’
I sincerely hope that nothing remotely similar to this occurs whilst on the plane to Mexico or Greece. Though, it would make for an interesting blog entry.
Twelve hours will find me at a hospital downtown, as per my MRI appointment. Doctors are going to decide how to handle the abnormalities that have somehow lodged their way into my brain.
I remain rather optimistic about being stuffed inside a machine, despite my recent episode in the stairwell.
Today brought the dawn of the much dreaded annual music festival. In other words a slow, most painful death for all of us innocent beings involved.
The entire day, from dawn until dusk, consisted of our high school band performing and observing other performances. It was dull, to be quite generous. There were a series of performances and breaks situated between them, which gave us barely enough time to consume meals and tune before we were thrust on stage again and expected to perform.
During one of our intermittent breaks, a friend wished to show me her mother’s graduation picture, as we were at the high school that her mother attended. I agreed solely out of boredom, not because I particularly desired to view the picture. We ascended the staircase to the upper level of the school, only to discover that the upstairs was locked. We shrugged and then descended the staircase to return to our band room, as we had a performance very soon following. As we attempted to enter the main floor, we discovered that that door was locked too. Oh. My. Gawd.
I could FEEL the oxygen supply slowly perish into the ether. The walls started to close in. I began to hyperventilate, anxious that we were going to miss our performance… if we were even lucky enough to escape with our lives. I WAS IN SURVIVAL MODE.
And then I soon realized that I was supposed to pull the door, not push.
Yesterday’s band class was no different than the mundane torturous hour and twenty minutes that it usually is. Only yesterday brought the inevitable… stomach growl.
It’s awkward when you’re quick to exclaim ‘it was my stomach!‘, because we all know what it really sounds like.
I'm a very opinionated seventeen year old Canadian girl embarking on my perplexing journey through life. My blog has chronicled my life, the pleasant and the trying, since I was thirteen.
