Dancing with the Floor

Something kinda funny about me: stress affects me physically, not mentally. Is that funny? Hmm, not really. Say it in an Italian accent. There, now it’s kinda funny. I have a couple of back-stories, that we can laugh about now, but at the time they were terrible.
April 2006: I had just been accepted to Art Center, I was in the midst of a firestorm of controversy at the middle school I was working at, my two best friends had broken up…with each other (time management, trying to be unbiased, and having to be the shoulder to cry on…suck fest ’99!) (as I am trying to hone in on all the things, I realized there was a crap load! More than I had even thought initially. Wow, I’m amazing! But this isn’t a Debbie Downer story, so I'll leave you with those.)
Ok, new paragraph, new start.
So when I’m stressed, I don’t eat. I have no appetite. Some people cuddle up with a pint of Ben and Jerry’s, and watch reruns of friends. I, instead, try to remain as normal as possible and do things that I would normally do, but without…you know…people fuel. Ok, so back to story at hand. We were invited to some music recital for a friend that was getting her Masters in Public Performance from USC. As we were sitting in the non-denominational church that also doubled as a piano recital place, I started feeling hot. No big whoop, everyone thought it was hot. But then, during the intermission, when we were all outside, I started really getting hot. So I took off my jacket and sweater. Mind you, it was about 63 degrees out. Very odd for me to NEED to cool down. Anywho, intermission over, we all trudge back in. The church is unbearably hot and I feel…unusual. I ask around for water. Water ain’t helping nuthin’. I get panicky. The guy I was with looks at me and says,” are you okay?” “I just need to use the restroom, I’m okay.” I push my way through the pews and bolt through the doors. I desperately try to find the restroom and when I do, I curse that it’s down a long hall. I start running down the hall thinking, “Please please please just don’t let me puke in a fucking hall.”
Everything goes white.
I open my eyes. Really heavy eyelids. This process takes minutes. I’m staring at the wood molding on the floor. I’m on a marble floor. First thought that comes to mind, “ I CANNOT believe that asshat took me to a party and just let me sleep in some weird room!” I hear music. I have no idea where I am. My head is sore and my knee is bleeding. I try to sit up. That’s when I realize I had fainted. I get up, kinda, and make my way to the restroom. I look in the mirror and have a massive goose egg on the side of my forehead that is just getting bigger by the minute. All veiny and throbbing. I wash my face, wash my knee (that now has a scar from this night) and place my hair in such a way that my new bump wont be visible. I go back to the main hall, steal a cookie (for sugar) and wait for the song to be over to go sit back inside. When I sit down, my date asks me if I’m ok. I say, "Yeah, I was just tired." He smiles and, like he had a freaking bump detector, kisses my freaking forehead bump. I flinch and make a tiny noise. He gives me a look and like moves my hair aside. “Did you get into a fight in there? What the hell happened?” “Nothing, I’ll explain later.” I guess I like being stoic.
Recital is over, we all pile out. I’m feeling uber weak and jell-o leggy. I sit down and, much to my chagrin, start telling him what happened. But not as dramatic. “Eh, I passed out. Not a big deal. Are you going to eat that strawberry?” Before he could get another word out of me, I jam the strawberry in my mouth and take about 10 minutes to consume it. And when anyone came by to ask me questions, I shrugged and pointed to my mouth. This fun encounter also left me with a fun concussion. For three weeks I wasn’t able to decipher personalized license plates (on of my FAVORITE things in the world.) and I was not funny at all. Nor did I understand jokes. It was a very bizarre time.
I have another pass out story, but this got too long. I’ll write it tomorrow.
Anyway, I recently celebrated the fact that it had been an entire year since I last passed out.
And then today…due to everything going on in my stupid world, (which I totally thought I was handling nicely, considering) I get up from my seat to get water and immediately see white and made myself sit down. I didn’t pass out. Imagine: me and Marie Osmond in the same week. At least I would have been in good company…kinda.