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Why hello!

I thought Ithaca was going to escape the doom and gloom of winter...I was severely wrong. It's been so nice out lately.  The sun has graced us with her lovely presence and for the first time in Ithaca history, I still can't see my breath. And it's November. By now, Ithaca is 10km underneath a newly-formed glacial mass. Students begin their transfer applications to the University of Miami, and a scalding hot cup of coffee is your only motivation to arise out of the cocoon you call your bed.

If they sold these in Twin XL size, that company would be eating filet mignon 24/7.
[via kidshaus]

But it's nice still. And for that I am happy. It isn't lasting for long. And being the environmentalist I am, I know why it's so nice out right now, which makes me sad.  But I also know what we're in for. And let's just say that I've already emailed those baby cocoon people asking for a larger size.

Like all good things, this blip of good weather in the sonar of the sad and cold ocean must come to an end. I just tried to make a fishing metaphor. I might have failed. In any case, it was wonderful while it lasted. If only I could have worn my sunglasses throughout this time...which brings me to my next point.

Have you ever had a sty? If you don't even know what that is, then you've never had one. But let me tell you, styes and I are besties. But it's more like styes love me and I hate styes. They really suck. They're painful. Styes have caused me to spill gallons of detergent on my dorm room floor. Styes have made me go see an opthamologist only to be told to slap a hot tea bag on it. We live in the technological age where anything is possible! Medical advances are being made every single day, and the best treatment for these things is a tea bag?

Me every night.
[via practicalglamour]

And that's how it's been for year now.  Every month or two, a stye and six of his friends would party it up in my eye and then leave after two or three days.  But this time is different. It's like this stye started partying and once the drugs wore off, he took a little look around and liked what he saw.  He liked what he saw and he wanted to stay.  For the past two weeks, this thing has deceptively gotten better, then turned for the worse.  Right now, we're on a downward spiral.  My eyelid has a nice, hard lump on it.  For those of you interested in medicine, google chalazion.  That's what it is, folks.

So, this new enemy and I duke it out.  I went to the health center and now I have an appointment with an opthamologist.  In fact, the very same one that I saw a year ago and sent me away.  This time, there shall be no sending away.  I'm going in for a consult and I'm finishing this.  My eye shant be a frat house where styes can just take a load off. Nay.  Find another victim.

I would like to take some time now to discuss my college's health center with y'all. It looks like any other outdated building on campus, with the wood paneling on the walls, pamphlets about every single disease known to man (as well as a pamphlet on hookahs...), and the uncomfortable leather-esque furniture that can be easily cleaned with a Clorox wipe in case a youth decides to chunder.

Also, it looks slightly like an all-women's prison. Just throwing that out there.
[via ithaca.edu]

But here's where it got weird.  All of those things should be expected of any college health center. But one thing should not. And that, my friends, is the music. You walk into a health center and are serenaded by the soft symphonies of coughing. Perhaps the ringing phones offer the beat by which the flu victims can cough to. If you're lucky, you might even hear the terrible elevator music overhead.  But no. Oh no. This is where I was thrown aback. Because after I checked in with my Quasi eye, I sat down. It was then that it truly registered. I listened in and heard autotunes and a synthetic drum beat. While everyone was dying around me, Bruno Mars was singing us away. I kid you not. Perhaps it was a fluke. I listened further only to discover that they had a hip play list filled with club beats and dance tunes. Bruno Mars, then Drake, then some other dude who relies on machines to make his voice sound good. It was one rapper after the other.

"Feel better kids. Also, the new album comes out on the fifteenth!" --Actual quote from Mr. Mars
[va idolator]

Which brings me to my question of the day. Who in their right mind plays rap music in a health facility? It's so out of place! Ridiculous. Blasphemy. Auto tune mixed with coughing does not bring a smile to my face. In face, it brings an upside down smile, more commonly known as a frown, to my face. Sadness washed over me like saturated fat on an artery.

Update: I did go see the eye man a week ago and he shot some roids into my eye. That was fun. Also, I'm on meds and flaxseed oil. I'm not sure if you've ever taken flaxseed oil pills, but woah nelly are they a doozy. 

This is actually to scale.
[via profimedia]

It's a sad day in the neighborhood. But in the end, everything works itself out. Even if I have choked on those mammoth pills more than once. Egads.