I did it! I gave blood without seeing stars and completely soaking my sweater with sweat. What's the use of sweater if you don't drench it in sweat? Anyway, I didn't GIVE give blood, like, for the Red Cross or anything. Psssh. I can barely handle giving the doc a tiny vial of that red fluid. You know, that red fluid of mine which is apparently lacking some necessary cells or whatever. Give me some pills, doc. And chopped liver so I will stop feeling like chopped liver. It isn't that simple, I know I know I know. I have to maintain a laissez faire attitude about so many things or I will so drive myself insane. So. So so so so so. I am so so these days, have you noticed? But hopefully that vial of deficient liquid will be a key piece on my ROAD TO RECOVERY. Or it could very well be a pit stop on the HIGHWAY TO HELL. (Do highways have pit stops? Like I would know. I am terrified of driving on freeways and highways and winding dirt roads in remote areas during a torrential downpour. Google "torrential downpour" and you will come to discover that it is the name of an awful band.)
So wahoo! No passing out! Yet! There shall always be an opportunity for me to see stars and sweat in my oversized black sweater I purchased in San Francisco after the Giants parade back in October. It was on Halloween, in fact. I was lost in a mall and felt self-conscious and wandered into an H&M. I walked out with $90 worth of junk and confusion. I began crying because I was still lost and now $90 poorer. I wore the sweater the whole damn time and the floppy hat only once. Surprisingly the hat was too big for my abnormally large cranium. Plus, a homeless man told me I looked like Freddy Krueger. I did wear the hat in an Instagram photo, however, because we all know homeless men don't look at Instagram. Ugh. What am I typing? Let me retrace my steps. Homeless man. Hat. Mall. Confusion. Halloween. San Francisco. Sweater. Sweat. Stars. Fainting. That's right! Blood!
If you are even remotely interested, I will keep you posted with what the results are of my second blood test. I may pass out mid-post, though. If so, send some smelling salts my way. That was a tongue twister. Maybe I will sell smelling salts and seashells by the seashore in San Francisco next October. And then maybe I'll raise enough money so I won't burst into tears after walking out of an H&M with bags full of Freddy Krueger accessories. These are my plans. But I think the first order of business is to eat a heaping plate of chopped liver. Bon appétit, my pretties.