In honor of my no-homework policy for 3-day weekends, I did no homework over my 3-day weekend. Instead, I did lots of other things.
Food poisoning, for example. I imagine having a bad case of food poisoning is much like tending a small child. The toilet is my small child. It's times like these I make allowances for "why me?" moments. There are times (see June 4, 2002) when everyone is collectively miserable on the family room couches, but I don't understand under what circumstances a single family member (why me?) gets poisoned - even when everyone has been eating the same things. WHAT-EVAR!
The last time I got food poisoning, it resolved in about 24 hours. This time, however, I was experiencing the inner rumblings well into 50 hours. And oh mother - aren't we glad she's not a doctor? Once I passed the 24-hour mark, she started to become hysterical. Of course she fed me her pungent Chinese medicine, but then she started to suggest I start doing things to "heal" my diarrhea. Things like "go to the temple. THE TEMPLE WILL HEAL YOUR DIARRHEA," and "come to this viewing. It will HEAL YOUR DIARRHEA."
So what, if not homework, did I do over my 3-day weekend? I went about questing to "heal my diarrhea." Don't worry, though, it's cured - I think. I'm sure you are all dying to hear what task did it. Well, it was probably watching what I thought was a French romantic comedy. Turns out it is actually a psychological thriller, and let me tell you - French psychopaths, they're three freaky units worse than American ones. "Butcher," or "Freak" are some more-appropriate names for psychological thrillers - not "He loves me... He loves me not."
That's it! I'm off to reestablish my intestinal fauna.