I bought benedryl because that’s what will smith used in hitch

There are days when you wake up on the wrong side of your bed. You stub your toe getting out, and you drop your toothbrush on the ground. You burn your toast and your coffee’s too weak.

There are days when you wake up wildly wondering what day it is and oh god, did I miss my 8 am again?

And then there are days when you wake up and your right ear is bigger than your left one. It’s itchy, swollen, and you squint at yourself in the mirror thinking it might break at any moment.

I was so busy yesterday there was no time to look in the mirror until around 5 last night. This means I woke up at 11, watched Doctor Who and baked chocolate chip cookies in my fuzzy bunny slippers, pajamas, and the the ponytail I fell asleep in. It wasn’t until we needed to go to the grocery store that a little voice inside of me reminded me I probably should try to look somewhat presentable. That’s when I finally noticed my swollen upper lip and the creeping spots that had been appearing on my face all day. My friends didn’t tell me because they thought I’d already noticed. I mean, it’s kind of hard to miss a red rash across your face and it was almost dinnertime at this point.

But for future reference guys, I will never have already noticed. Anything. I’m trying to change though, because if I ever witness a crime I’m not entirely sure the police will be too pleased with me as a witness.

After a couple hours of bemoaning my appearance, I finally went to get some allergy medicine and bought Benedryl on my friend’s advice, because “Will Smith used it in Hitch.” Product placement works, y’all.

But Benedryl doesn’t, at least as an antihistamine (yup; totally learned about this in AP Bio). I did spend all day drugged up on it so that I literally slept through the entire day, though. Except for the intervals in which I dragged myself into the bathroom to examine my hives, and oh look. I think it got worse! and wait–then the hives spread to my fourth finger on my right hand. Itchy bumps on my ears and face, and then on one finger. I don’t know what this means except for I couldn’t get my ring off.

There are too many things I ate yesterday that could be potential allergens and because I have zero frame of reference as to when the hives started coming, I’m pretty much scared to eat anything I have in my kitchen right now.

Lesson of the day: I ate something, and now I’m allergic to something.

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freshman vs. sophomore vs. junior aka I am scatterbrained.

I was poking around on my computer because I’m nosy even to myself and I found this document that I wrote a year ago after coming home from freshman year at college, never finished, and promptly forgot about until today. I remember now vaguely writing it for some purpose–but exactly what, is lost. I thought it was interesting to see how past me thought versus present me, so I’ve posted what I originally wrote followed by an edit on how things have changed.  

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This is the cleanest my room ever was freshman year. It was taken the day I moved in.

It’s weird to see that your life can be packed away. I stand in my room, surrounded by boxes, crates, baskets. But they don’t hold just things. My life is more than a couple of sundresses, a copy of Modern European History and my favorite, green dotted sheets. Some people say things are just things. But I say they hold memories.

And as I return home from my first year at college, unpacking my last year’s life, I unpack the time I couldn’t get the washer to work and made a new friend, the time I lost my head and completely forgot where my class was on the last week of classes and was almost late for the final exam, and all those times my friends and I sat in confusion as our comparative literature professor adapted every single story to relate to Edgar Allen Poe and the ghost of Jesus Christ.

Things change; people change. But after a year of name games, awkward get-togethers, and repetitive ice breakers, a year of realizing my actions were actually beginning to matter, and a year of perpetual identity crisis, on the surface, I still feel like a high school senior who came to college expecting everything! to change, who came as a biochemistry major and switched immediately to history, then dabbled in political science, international politics, and then nutrition.  I still don’t know what I want out of life, I still don’t know how to balance what I love and what is practical, and I really have no idea where I’ll be in three years.

But then I think about how my friendships have changed. How some have simply strengthened from a year’s distance, even from the other side of the country and how others, once just a walk around the corner, have inexplicably turned to dust.  How an older friend told me that while we may sneak in a Skype date here, a phone call there, so many of my friends will end up strangers in a few years—that even we will probably not speak once he’s graduated —but that’s okay, because you’ll make new friends in college. And I realize that some of that, at least, is true.

AJhdflisuhf

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Edited to maintain current relevancy

This is closer to what my room looked like both years.

It’s weird to see that your life can be packed away. I stand in my room, surrounded by boxes, crates, baskets. But they don’t hold just things. My life is more than a couple of sundresses, a copy of Modern European History Chemistry: The Central Science and my favorite, green dotted sheets. Some people say things are just things. But I say they hold memories.

And as I return home from my first second year at college, unpacking my last year’s life, I unpack the time I couldn’t get the washer to work and made a new friend my friends surprised me with a dancing cat on my birthday (don’t ask), the time I lost my head and completely forgot where my class was on the last week of classes and was almost late for the final exam, I still couldn’t find that dang building because I swear to god it moves around, and all those times my friends and I sat in confusion as our comparative literature professor adapted every single story to relate to Edgar Allen Poe and the ghost of Jesus Christ  sat in depression after news of the Penn State sex scandal broke; then again, and again, and again–each revelation more horrifying and disillusioning than the previous.

Things change; people change. But after a year of name games, awkward get-togethers, and repetitive ice breakers, a year of realizing my actions were actually beginning to matter, and a year of perpetual identity crisis (all still true), on the surface, I still feel like a graduated high school senior who came to college expecting everything! to change, who came as a biochemistry major and switched immediately to history, then dabbled in political science, international politics, and then nutrition and debating between nutrition pre-med and nutrition applied sciences, and then hospitality and dietetics, oh god.  I still don’t know what I want out of life, I still don’t know how to balance what I love and what is practical, and I really have no idea where I’ll be in three two years. (Okay, at least I have some idea now)

But then I think about how my friendships have changed. How some have simply strengthened from a year’s distance, even from the other side of the country and how others, once just a walk around the corner, have inexplicably turned to dust.  How an older friend told me that while we may sneak in a Skype date here, a phone call there, so many of my friends will end up strangers in a few years—that even we will probably not speak once he’s graduated (we don’t), but that’s okay, because you’ll make new friends in college. And I realize that some of that, at least, is true. (still true)

AJhdflisuhf

Jkadfnvkzjhdbfvlzjdbcnj (My thoughts exactly).

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I’m not exactly sure why I wrote this other than maybe I wanted to have some sort of reflection on my first year at college. All I remember is that something a friend said inspired the beginning. I realize that it’s quite incomplete, jumps from idea to idea, and lacks any sort of central message—but let’s be real–what else can you expect from a reflection on my life?

Maybe I’ll rewrite it after junior year, or hopefully at least by senior year it’ll have an ending…but knowing me I’ll probably be too lazy to write it.