At the
beginning of February an old fever of mine started to burn. Cross stitching. I love
it , I just don’t have much time nor an excuse to spend hours hunched back over
a piece of canvas, a needle and a lot of colored threads. I found the perfect
excuse in making tokens for March 1st. This country of mine has this custom on the first
day of March to give small tokens (broaches, but mostly useless plastic or
metal or cloth tokens) accompanied by a red and white tread that is tied in a
bow. ( I have the feeling I have mentioned it once before, not long ago.) On March
8th, when it’s the International Day of Women, or something like
that, at school and everywhere women get gifts in the form of flowers,
chocolates, whatever. I dread these days. I dreaded them when I was little when
I had to give my teachers tokens and gifts, I dread it now when there are
chances to get one, the other or both. I simply dread going to school because I
know there is a chance I will get into one of these awkward situation where I will
hove no idea how to respond. I am good at faking emotion and surprise, but
behind all those smiles there is only
dismay and horror. My mind screams HELP ME!!!! from all my being. Luckily, the custom
is fading in our parts, but not entirely so the danger still exists. I cannot
help but feel uncomfortable in such situations.
I know, I know.
Am I crazy? Free stuff. How can I not be happy about it? My mom tells me all
the time. She if of the opinion that if someone choses to give you something
for free you must take it. I suppose she is right and I try to think like her
when it happens but it doesn’t make it any easier.
I distributed
handmade tokens myself today. I made them. Put my soul into them and gave them
a value beyond commercial. (though I am perfectly capable of selling them because
I do a pretty good job, I might add)
Today was easy.
Little awkwardness because, in recent years, the custom to give boys/men tokens
on march 1st grew strong. I only gave to my teachers (who are now, strangely enough, my co-workers)
to the headmistresses and everyone I consider friend, more or less (the definition
of friend is a tad different with me)
I fear the next Tuesday when its march 8th.
I just don’t want to think about it.
**Because I have been feeling this unpleasant, not too powerful but recurring pain inside my left ear I decided to visit the school nurse and ask her about it. She said it could be an infection and that I should pay my doctor a visit. So I did, after I finished classes at three. The waiting room had a few people in it, among them an old lady, a mother and her son, man and two little girls or around 6, a boy from 12th grade and some other people that came and went. My hope was to get out of there by 4 because I wanted to catch the bus home. The next would come at 7 in the evening, after me waiting for hours in the station.
Anyway, I went
in, I sat down and , to pass the time, because I get bored very easily, I started
reading a book on my phone. Olivia Munn’s SUCK IT, WONDER WOMAN! is the title. Fun
book to read . during the chapter about
the robot invasion I had to stop reading because I was starting to lough to
loudly and soon I would draw unwanted attention. They others were still
recovering from listening to one of those girl’s screams of agony and despair
and her declaration, upon exiting the doctor’s office, to never come back
again. They gave her a vaccine with a small needle that doesn’t hurt a bit. We cannot
mess with the power of a little girl’s fear, however. Never. Ever.
The 12th
grade boy left at one point because everyone was going in before him, even
those that came after. I supposes he was trying to be polite a few times and let
a lady go in first but the situation must’ve gotten over his head because he
seemed rather upset when he left. And he was right. When you go to a doctor in
a small town like this be prepared to wait forever because there are some
people who think they must go first even if there is a dying man waiting to be
admitted. The category consists mainly of old ladies who are supposedly so
tired and sick they cannot possibly wait a few minutes, officials from the town
hall that are too important to wait, and gypsies who, if you do not give them
priority in everything, start yelling they are being discriminated and play the
victim card. That is why I missed my 4 o’clock bus. That and the fact that the doctor
takes too much time with explanations no one really understands.
Also at the
doctor’s, a woman came in at one point and after a few minutes with talking
with everyone else she turned to me – I like to stay outside people’ s line of
sight to avoid such encounters – and said “ Ah, Stella! I almost didn’t recognize
you.” (Which is funny because I haven’t changed much in the last 14 years of my
life. ) She said she had heard I am working at school now, asked me how that
is. How I am. What I’ve been doing. I answered, politely, to all her questions,
smiled and everything, all the while wondering who the hell was she. I don’t remember
my highschool mates that well by name but I think I would remember a face. Perhaps
I met her in a different capacity, I just have no idea. Happens all the time
with me , for people to talk to me as if they know me and for me to pretend that I know them, but sometimes
it’s just downright annoying.
Never mind
that. It happens, we move on, hope to never meet again that person.
At 4.30 I finally
got my face to face with the doctor. He used that thingy to look inside my
ear, decided it is an infection and gave me a prescription. I left, bought a
few things from the grocery/bakery then went to the bus station fully aware it
was gonna take a while until I would get home. And it did take a while. Luckily,
the bus station is right across the street from a restaurant with Wi-Fi. I have
the password from a girl I know and I was able to not be bored by the waiting. Much.
I almost forgot about the date and about what is
coming. Which is good. Too much stress.
Gotta go to
the pharmacy tomorrow to get my prescription because by the time I left the
doctor’s all two pharmacies in our town
were long closed. Because no one needs medicine after 4 p.m. in this town.
Truth is, everything sucks sometimes.
No comments:
Post a Comment