The Book I Write

Today's post is not friendly.  If you get squeamish, skip out after the words "gross anatomy lab."  You won't like it.


I hate Wednesdays.  Hate them.  It's as simple as that.  There's too much to do, and I end up feeling rushed and nasty.  Plus, nasty things have a tendency of happening.

Like the test I forgot about until last night.  My suitemate and I are in the same class and when she asked, all casual-like, "So how are you feeling about tomorrow's test?" 

I nearly collapsed.  "What test?" I wanted to ask, until I remembered the professor discussing impending doom on Monday.  Then I wanted to say something along the lines of, "Please, decapitate and cremate me now," but that would have been overly dramatic. 

We laughed mutually at my statement of, "It's gonna happen," and then we both went and studied.  I tried not to have an epic breakdown.

Also looming horribly is next week.  Midterms, y'all.  Freaking midterms.  Which means a test on Organic chemistry, which I hate, and Anatomy, which involves memorizing hundreds of muscles, their attachments, and their movements. 

Oh, yeah.  I'm thrilled.

The one bright spot for the day was the lightbulb-ish bubble I made in glassblowing yesterday.  I was excited to have it turn out nicely, and large-ish, with an appropriately flat bottom and rounded sides and thick-ish bottom and-and-and, so my intent was to take it to my room as soon as possible to contemplate its perfection.

Except all day, it wasn't cooled.  I checked, and went to class, and came back two hours later, and checked, and came back TWO HOURS AFTER THAT and it still wasn't done.  Depressed?

Just maybe.

Added into this cocktail of self-pity was gross anatomy lab.  For those of you unfamiliar with the concept, "gross anatomy" means that you dissect the deceased after they've been soaked in fermaldehyde and phenol and other stuff and been de-blooded. 

Now, for those of you who haven't spent a lot of time dissecting things, allow me to enlighten you.  Fermaldehyde, phenol, and the other stuff may be only slightly preferable to the actual smell of rotting flesh.  And if it is, it's a very small slight. 

To add interest, each and every thing that is soaked in fermaldehyde comes out a little differently.  Cat is not the same nasty as squid is not the same as snake is not the same as worm*.  Fermaldehyded human is its own particular brand of nasty.  It only gets beat out by squid, probably because the squids were decaying and suspended in fermaldehyde. 

The worst part of the human variety isn't the actual smell, though.  Rather than simply hanging in the air as such nasty odors usually tend to do, it does something infinitely more nasty.

It sticks.

You know how sometimes, after sitting down under a blanket, you move and a little gust of air runs past your nose? 

Imagine my surprise when, at such a moment, the gust that ran past smelled just like the lab. 

Imagine my horror when I realized the reek was coming from my clothes and my hair and my skin and . . . everything. 

After my shower, I brushed my teeth and tried to scrub my nose because--guess what?--it was stuck in my nose and mouth, too. 

I have never been so thoroughly disturbed by a smell.  It was horrid.

Thus, I hate Wednesdays.



*Believe it or not, the squid was the worst.