Worst. Week. Ever.

Okay, exaggeration. But:

Last Thursday I woke up at 10:30 am with a VIOLENT case of the shivers. I ran over, turned off my fan, got an extra blanket, and fell back asleep. Then mom called to make sure I was going to class, and upon hearing of my predicament and my voice, demanded I take my temperature, which was a lovely tropical 101.5. And yet, I had a duty: I had to run the soundboard for a Rat-Pack based production of Hamlet at 8 pm sharp. So, I took mass quantities of advil, sat at my computer, and tried to work myself up to it. I arrived at the theater looking like hell and slept through most of the show except my cues.

Friday was pretty much the same, except I also had a terrible, terrible cold, which was returning from Wednesday. Luckily, I had a care-package of medicinal types things arriving, so I wandered over to the mailroom before it closed, went back home, slept it off a little, and did more Hamleting. The cold medicine helped, because

by Saturday, I was like all better, fever wise, and my cold was totes manageable. I rocked the two shows, and then I rocked the cast party, rite of passage style. That rite of passage, however, resulted in

another, morning-after style rite of passage, wherein I woke up with a splitting headache at 5 pm the next day. That ruined my plans of actually ever starting my psych and Russian papers, both due Wednesday, and I basically just shat around on the computer trying to make my head normal again all evening.

Then came Monday. Relatively innocuous, except a) no work on the looming papers and b) my computer stopped accepting charge from the wall.

Tuesday was... well, okay, I skipped class and just came to this computer lab (yes, now) and smashed out a ROCKING psych paper in 3 and a half hours, just in time to catch Veronica Mars. I missed the first few minutes because of a dance rehearsal in the lounge, the station cut out 2 minutes after one of the commercial breaks, UPN ran a weekly test of the emergency system at the awesome and heartbreaking ending, but WORST was some stupid selfish kid came in and INSISTED we find CNN so he could see his mom, and I missed my FAVORITE SCENE EVER (I've subsequently downloaded and rewatched the episode, and OMG is it squeey. On a related note, someone find me a free mp3 of "I Hear The Bells" by Mike Doughty). So, that was miserable, and of course by the time I got back to my room my laptop decided to just not work. So with the last minute of battery, I posted this desperate plea, thinking it was the powercord's fault. So, I went to the lab and wrote half a page of Nabokov-related drivel and spent many hours on TWoP and AIM and that was that. 4 am bedtime.

Wednesday (kinda today), I turned in the psych paper and cut MB&B to work on the Nabokov. That didn't so much work out, and it took me the whole 5 hours to doctor 2 1/2 pages of nonsense with no coherent theme into 4 pages acceptable for a peer-editing draft. Oh, and I'd dropped my computer off at the store earlier for some guy to look it over, and after Russian I came back to find that it was the computer's fault, and it needed to be sent off to Apple for emergency treatment. I had to agree, but now I am having constant panic attacks. I reallly rely on that thing for my entire life.

Also today, the other worst thing ever happened: I'm homeless for next year. Our housing works on a ridiculous lottery system, in which people form "groups" of 1-6 people and depending on your class years and a random number generator are assigned a rank, from 1-530something. I was 471. The single rooms ran out around 469, after I'd spent two hours waiting in a room to be called up to get in line to actually register. Now I'm at the mercy of a backup system that I do not understand nor trust, and between that and my empty desk I am FREAKING OUT, mannn.

At least I was. Now I'm more freaking out over that favorite scene ever and heartbreaking ending. Don't tell the kittens, but I have a new OTP, and they're also canon, and they have actual chemistry, not just chemistry imagined by hoards of representationless lesbians (self included) and foisted on an unsuspecting fanbase. Or whatever. Though I think these shippers are equally violent and protective. If one of their own were murdered, they'd have the same petitions and freakouts and boycotts. I'd probably join, except the boycotts. Truth be told, I didn't even participate in the original dead-Tara one. I watched some of season seven, and didn't like it, and THEN stopped.