I Think My Spinal Cord Is On Fire

Once upon a time, illness and I came to an agreement, that we don't agree. Since then I've always carefully maintained that I'm not ill, I'm just PMSing, or it's allergies, or I've got food poisoning, or It's merely a mild depression manifesting itself or lastly, it's elves tickling my feet.

Joke is on me. I know it's not PMS, nor am I mildly depressed, I've kinda forgotten to eat a lot lately so when I remember it's normally something fast and not controversial, like toast or pasta...therefore this isn't food poisoning.

I've maintained for over a week now that it's just allergies, you know the odd hive and some congestion. I'll allergic to toothpaste for chrissakes, I'm allowed to write off most everything as allergies, and when I can't, I can always blame the elves.

Elves tickling your feet is a handy brush-off category for non-illness, I recommend adopting it.

As none of my normal categories for maintaining near-perfect health were viable, I have been forced to finally register with a doctor here in the UK.

The first thing I did after the successful completion of this mission was to call my dad, the conversation went something like this, 'Hey Dad! Guess what I did today?!'

'What? Are you okay? You don't sound so good.'

'I'm not so good actually, which why I went and registered with the NHS today. Yep, Dad, I tried out socialism today and it's not so bad!'

*groan*

'I just have to wait one day and I get to see a doctor for free!'

'That's terrible.'

My dad is a believer in many things, however, socialised medicine is not one of those many things...

Anyway, as I have a day to nap and take painkillers before seeing someone to prescribe something stronger, I've had some time to ponder my luck, and really, I'm very happy to announce that I have arrived as a Real Adult.

Sorta. I have to get out of school and get a job to REALLY arrive, but I'll get there. I have an internship so, back off, it's a start, of sorts.

Anyway, my criteria today has been such:

A real adult lives far enough away from their family that they can't just go home and do laundry there on the weekends. And a real adult has an urban family willing to make sure they don't die alone in the studio flat with no one to mourn them. (Significant others count as a half...they have a vested interest, if you die they have to find a new person to sleep with them.) Urban families do not view your funeral as an opportunity to look hot in a little black dress and therefore will brave potential disease to come and check on you.

In my case, I have Afghan Hound and Cocker Spaniel en route with chicken soup and DVDs. I fully expect them to force feed me painkillers, fever reducers and the like.

I'm sure without them, my landlord would come into my flat in a few days to collect rent only to find me, dehydrated and writhing on the floor moaning, 'MY KNEECAPS HURT!!!!'

Luckily it's not coming to that.

I have however, thought of an exception to the Real Adult rules: Disney villains.

They tend to live away from a family lifestyle and have sidekicks that appear to have their best interests at heart. But APPEAR is the operative word. How many villain sidekicks have you seen wave bye-bye to their bad guy buddy as they plummet off a cliff/fall off a waterfall/get hit with a magic spell/stabbed with a sword?

Yea, think about it.

A lot.

Therefore, they fail as Real Adults. They have no urban family. So today I have laid a worry to rest, I am not a villainess. And yes, it was a vague concern as I suit black clingy clothing. However thanks to presence of an urban family I can safely say that it's just a colouring/figure thing, not a personality issue.

Phew.

Though, maybe, just to be safe I'll start wearing more pastel flowery things. You know, just to drive the point home.

I draw the line at randomly bursting into song.

Just.