Guys, if I might advise? Get yourselves a nurse flatmate. Not only is there fun with sharp objects—
[Sequence of events:
Nurse flatmate: Can I practise cannulating you?
Me: SURE! [long pause] Wait, what?
Nurse flatmate: Can I practise sticking needles in your veins?
–but this happens:
Me: Ahh, I have a headache!
Nurse flatmate: Step into my office.
The *thunk* is a giant box of magical, hospital-grade drugs landing on the floor at my feet. “Here,” she says, “try this. And maybe take some of these. Eyeballs hurt? Lost a limb? Concerned about your kidney function?”
Okay, that’s an exaggeration — she didn’t ask about my kidney function. But she DID just cure a headache that’s lasted almost a week in seconds. (To be fair, I could have cured it days ago, since she gave me the drugs on Friday. But she told me I wasn’t allowed to take them with alcohol, so hard choices had to be made.)
A workmate came over to my desk. “Can you look up what season of Supernatural had the episode with the Scarecrow?”
Me: “Season 1. It’s episode 11.”
Her (backing up): You scare me.
I REMEMBER THINGS, you guys! It’s not my FAULT! I probably also know your birthday and your phone number and the title of every episode of Buffy. I know your Twitter handle and your email address and how to spell your name correctly, and the fact that it’s taken me three days to remember what Crank was called has been driving me NUTS. I’ve pretty much been obsessing about it, while also refusing to look it up, because I don’t FORGET STUFF. Not details, anyway.
I can forget whole conversations, months of my life, appointments. Numbers? Names? That shit sticks.
You know how some people have lucky underwear? I will sometimes become convinced that a pair of my knickers are lucky, but I am never sure WHICH pair. So I’ll waste 20 minutes sifting through my drawer, asking my gut to tell me what FEELS RIGHT. I find it VERY STRESSFUL. My gut is kind of indecisive, and if I feel like I’ve picked wrong, it can throw out my entire day.
Or, like, yesterday on my run, I decided that where I crossed the road was going to MATTER TO THE UNIVERSE. Like, if I did it in the wrong place, then everything would go wrong, and the oceans would boil, and innocent children and dolphins would perish.
Should I stop talking?