Bitches get stitches

Hello friends!

Today I’m going to complain and whine a lot. So I’m apologizing now as while you are reading this you may start to shout out, “Jesus Christ Aubrey you are an adult shut up.”That being said.

Today I woke up and was like I’m going to look decent today because I don’t have to be a carpenter I just have to sit on my computer and draft all day. Wardrobe, assemble! Skinny jeans! Check! Cleaveagy top! Yeah! Flowy shawl! Go! Lipstick! Purple!

GoooooooOOOOOOOOO AUBREYYYYYYYYY.

You get it, right?

So I had class, learned more about how to use the computer program that haunts my dreams, and then I’m like, I’m going to go get coffee before I start drafting! What a grand idea! Plus I look so nice, la la la la la. So I get a coffee for me and an iced chai for Kimberly and I start walking back to the Theater. Here’s where all of our worst social nightmares happen.

I go to walk upstairs, a simple task you’d think, and I trip over my foot, because walking is hard, and I fall down the stairs, spilling hot coffee all over me, in the student union, during lunch time. It takes every fiber of my being to not start sobbing. Someone kind of took the hot coffee cup and threw it away for me, the iced chair, fully intact, and I essentially run to the bathroom. I’m very sore and I just want to wash the coffee off of me. I wash my arms off and I notice 2 good cuts on my arms, I look down more, my knee is bleeding a bit. UGH.

So I wobble, literally, over to the Theater, still trying more than ever to not start crying. I put down the iced chai, I go to the medicine cabinet to get a band-aid, and go into the bathroom where the millisecond I closed the door I just start weeping. Tears just splashing off of the ground; its real cute.

I take my pants off, because I’m wearing skinny jeans… AWESOME CHOICE. I look down at my knee where I assume I cut myself a bit, and there is a clean, straight gash in the center of my knee, gushing. Now I start sobbing more, I don’t know why. Maybe because it feels like I can’t catch a break these last couple of weeks. So now I’m in a bathroom stall, weeping like Anne Hathaway in Les Miserables, with my pants around my ankles, and blood running down my leg. HAPPY TUESDAY GUYS.

I can’t do anything in this state, obviously, so I call Kimberly:

Aubrey: Hey, how squeamish are you?

Kimberly: Not that much.

Aubrey: Great, please come to the bathroom.

–Kimberly walks in–

Aubrey: I’m not wearing any pants!

Kimberly: That’s okay!

Aubrey: It needs stitches doesn’t it.

Kimberly: I mean, yeah.

So she calmed me down, wrapped me up, and off to the health center we went! We walked in the door, I said, “Hello, I have a gash on my leg”. The front desk girl kind of look horrified, and ushered us immediately into a room. Kimberly helps me take my shoes and pants off (I know and she didn’t even buy me dinner first).

Nurse and Doctor killed it; I love having 4 women in a room talk about all of the head injuries their brother has had. They numb and stitch me up, and then poke me with a tetanus and flu shot. Kimberly loves me and asks, “Do you have any pretty band aids. We need the good ones.” The nurse is essentially like, hell fucking yeah, and so now I have cool Jonathan Bandaids on my arm. (Jonathan is the husky mascot for UConn and him and his brother are the cutest, most goodest doggos that the world has ever seen.)

And off we go, back to the Theater! Kimberly essentially walks circles around me as I hobble back, but man, she is such a good mom! She asked the doctor all of the questions that I wouldn’t have, like, “What are her limitations? Can we have a note for work? What is the after care like?” You know, the important things. And you guys. She held my hand and literally wiped tears off of my face. And she tied my shoes for me. Like stop it, I feel so lucky that the person I get to spend the next 3 years with is kind, hilarious, and as loud as I am.

Also I just want to take a moment to bask in a small piece of glory which is my health insurance. To some, this may not seem like a bit deal but it is so important. After I turned 26 I remember how hard it was for me to find the right insurance. I remember how expensive it was, even going through my ex’s employers. And then once I was on my own, finding a job where they would help pay for it. To some this sounds silly, but another huge pro in going back to grad school was the health insurance. Because I technically work for the college with my Assistantship, I get insurance through them, and because I’m apart of the graduate union that cares about me, they fought for this; plus the monthly payments get taken out of my paycheck and are very minimal. It feels so good to have great insurance again that I’m not paying an arm and a leg for.

But anyways, we get back to the theater, jokes jokes jokes Aubrey is a clutz, how do you get stitches from walking up stairs? LOLZ.

I try to draft, but I can’t get comfortable since I can’t bend my knee, plus I’m still in a lot of pain, so I go home, and cry the whole way.

These last two weeks have been trying, just between being sick and now this, it’s been feeling especially lonely. I am such a baby when these things happen to me, and I just want to whine and be cared for. Even before I met my ex, I had my room mates who would care for me, many times much to their chagrin. It’s weird being truly alone now. I called my mom earlier and just wanted to be home for her to help me.

I tried to draft more once I got home but I really can’t concentrate today. Hopefully tomorrow will be better and I’ll be less swollen. The bruising is already started, I can’t wait to literally look like a rainbow. When I got home, it took me a good 10 minutes to take off my jeans and put on sweatpants. I’m not allowed to bend, lift, go up stairs, all those normal human things until next week when I get the stitches out. So I mostly had wine for dinner and that helped a bit.

But I’m really fine. I just am very good at whining. And crying. OH MAN am I good at crying… Gotta add it to the resume.

Today’s lyrics are a favorite headbanger of my dads; Drowning Pool says it best, “Let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor, let the bodies hit the floor. ”

 

Love,

Aubrey