When I majored in Biology, the notion that a virus could jump species was unheard of. I didn't do so great after transferring to the Molecular Dept. "The Recombinant DNA does what?" You want me to splice it? Where's my lab partner?
Oh yea, he dumped me after my stupid Chlorine gas accident.
I faked a car crash in order to get out of taking my Organic Chemistry final. I smeared white makeup on my face so I would appear more... "tragic".
"Professor, I simply can't go on. Can't you see the blood has drained from my face? I'm going to faint.
Then, once, I missed a Ballet final. My professor was from the ABT. "If you miss one performance you're out," he said. I missed a performance and went to see him afterward, head hung sorrowfully to announce, "I'm sorry I missed the performance. I have cancer," I said.
I belonged in the Drama Department.
As a child I directed plays on the front lawn. My reluctant cast included my younger sisters. I staged bike crashes, poured ketchup on their faces, turned their bikes upside down...spinned the wheels to convey a sence of immediacy. I positioned their little heads hanging over the curb.
Eventually I was in a community theatre play. My sister, in retaliation, sat in the front row.
The Denver Post and The Rocky Mountain News were there. It was review time.
I had a death scene. It was my moment. I had to die in an evening gown, rolling out of a chair, onto my head and ultimately collapsing. It was ludicrous. Eventually she was howling. I was dead on stage and joined her, laughing so hard I cried. Ahh ha ha ha. Snort.
The audience was silent. My howling sister and the snorting corpse on center stage pierced the quiet.
I don't know which is more painful... watching a video of that performance or the procedure, filmed by my gynocologist to treat Endometriosis that featured my ovaries through a laprascope. Ewe.