ON ILLNESS , APATHY, AND THE AMERICAN WAY

So ... every once in a long, long while, I emerge from my pariah lair into the sunlight. As I am squinting and inspecting what the Surface Dwellers have done with the place, I occassionally happen upon a male. In rare cases, I jump the male. Now, jumping is an art form and a sport, and after a sojourn of darkness and apathy one is usually in no shape for it.

My uretha, for instance, nearly dies of shock: “No! But wait! We are alone in the universe! This cannot be!”

And then the tiny E. coli virii cackle, “Behold the evils of the outside world, little urethra!” It is then that the Urinary Tract Infection begins to rage, like the Trojan War; the E. coli like some crazed Agamemnon beating at my Vag, no doubt believing that the Face That Launched A Thousand Ships is wedged inside.

At this point, I have to change my name to WettyPants McGee and start drinking a gallon of cranberry juice a day in the vain hope that the E. coli will take pity on my urinary tract and release its ruthless hold on my nethers.

Trevor suggested that I use the recent E. coli spinach outbreak to sensationalize my own, significantly less dangerous, infection. This way, he claims, I can get out of writing the Italian paper that I should be writing at this very moment. I tried to explain to Trevor that UTIs are not newsworthy, other than being indicative of Monty getting laid, whereas the Bad Spinach makes Jesus cry. Trevor pointed out that Jesus probably weeps heartily every time I have unwed sex. I pointed out that the true nature of my infection would probably become clear with my conspicuous lack of IV and equally conspicious need to pee every third milisecond.

Trevor immediately trumped me, suggesting that I could always invent a disease that Sounds Harmful.

So, friends, I regret to inform you at this time that I have been diagnosed with the Epic Monkey Pissing Sickness. Please stay back. It's highly contagious.

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(18:52:25) Trevor: i'm pushing 1.2GB/s between 2 colos
(18:52:38) Kate: mmmm
(18:52:41) Trevor: and i am very surprised i'm getting away with, considering the line is rate at 10Gbps
(18:52:41) Kate: sexy
(18:52:49) Trevor: it's HOT
(18:53:11) Kate: I think I just wet myself
(18:53:16) Kate: and not from the UTI
(18:53:46) Trevor: my sense of normal has been skewed
(18:53:55) Trevor: by what i'm doing and what you've just said
(18:54:10) Kate: Then my work here is complete
(18:54:58) Trevor: i'm glad i've helped you along your way there

This is a typical snapshot of my beautiful friendship with Trevor ... We shock, disgust, and astound each other – we push each other to new heights of soullessness with each passing day.

(18:58:14) Kate: Turns out grad school is hard
(19:17:36) Trevor: grad school is hard???
(19:17:43) Kate: I know, right?
(19:18:13) Trevor: weird
(19:18:30) Trevor: i've always gotten this peaches & cream impression
(19:19:05) Kate: Yeah; peaches and cream-of-professor
(19:19:17) Kate: Choke THAT down, lowly grad student!
(19:19:42) Trevor: wow, thats'.....
(19:19:44) Trevor: um....
(19:19:51) Trevor:
(19:20:17) Kate: Wow, have I left Trevor "Iron Wit" McCulloch speechles at long LAST?!
(19:20:22) Kate: Now I can die happy.
(19:21:16) Trevor: cream of professor...i was not prepared for that
(19:21:23) Trevor: i should've been
(19:25:55) Kate: Damn straight
(19:26:50) Trevor: i should be embarrassed, right?
(19:27:17) Kate: How long have you known me, after all?
(19:27:37) Kate: I mean, ejaculate accounts for about 73% of my thought process
(19:27:56) Trevor: true, true

I would like to conclude by reminding myself that I have a paper to work on. Even just typing up the citations from this Italian novel is making me want to pull a Sylvia Plath and make recreational use of an oven.

But, friends, I will return to it, because as my father likes to say, “Graduate school is hard, but my fist is harder.”