I'm not going to apologize for not posting in a while because I always find it so pretentious when people do that. It's like, "I'm sorry for not posting in a while, thus depriving you of how awesome I am." when in reality there is a total of 7 people who read your blog and they didn't even notice how long it's been since the last post about the new comforter your roommate Rachel got for Kwanzaa. Sheesh.
So no, you won't see any apologies on this blog, because we here at The Narwhal think it is very important to be humble. You don't need us telling you how awesome we are.*(Notice how I said we, as if I have a staff working for me. Nope, just me...and my schizophrenia .)
I've only been admitted to the hospital once and it was really lame and I hesitate to tell this story (ha! not really though). But something happened during this whole incident that really intrigued/bothered me and I'd like to share to see what you think.
If you've ever woken up to the smell of bacon cooking then you'll understand my reaction to such an event. It was a Saturday morning and I woke up to the smell of bacon and I got really excited. So excited in fact, that instead of doing my usual laying in bed for an hour and a half before I actually get up, I instantly sprang to my feet and sprinted down the hallway.
!!!!Pause story here to explain some science!!!!
When I jumped out of bed so quickly the blood that had been lazily pumping through my body had to suddenly cope with being vertical and trying to reach my brain which was made nearly impossible because of gravity. (gravity is the name of the big magnets in the center of the earth that keeps stuff from floating away, it's true look it up)
So anyway as I arrived in the kitchen I was devastated to learn that all of the bacon had been devoured and I was too late. Immediately after my mother informed me of this sad news, my vision started tunneling and I distinctly remember saying out loud, "Welp...I'm passing out."
And I did.
When I return to consciousness I was sitting in a chair in the kitchen and Floyd was knelt down in front of me, slapping my face mildly hard. The concern in his voice was very real, and very urgent.
"Son! Son, look at me! Son!" I groggily looked up at my father and was trying to tell him I was alright when he said this:
"Son! Son have you been doing any drugs? Now is the time to tell me!"
I was very disoriented, but I was able to understand the ultimatum very clearly. My first inclination was to make a joke out of it, like "Yeah I was dropping acid in my room at 7 in the morning and then I smelled bacon, sorry." But Floyd doesn't like those jokes even in situations where I haven't recently passed out in the kitchen.
I'm not saying his question wasn't justified, I just think it was funny. When I asked him about it later, all he said was "It could've been drugs" and that was it.
Something that wasn't funny at the time was my mother in the computer room talking to the 911 operator. The most disappointing part of this whole ordeal was when my mom told the 911 people never mind when I came to. That they would drive me to the hospital themselves. I would've been down for an ambulance ride. That's all there really is to the story. I passed out for literally 5 seconds which earned me a trip to the emergency room where I was informed that I got up from bed too quickly and was too dehydrated. The doctor even gave me a lesson on how to properly get up from bed so that I wouldn't pass out. To this day, I sit up for five seconds and slowly step out of bed every morning just in case. I've also stopped doing the drugs. Just kidding, I've never done drugs. Unless you count love.
*irony
