Captain's Log, Star Date ' Sept. 20, 2008: I think I'm giving myself a disease. Not on purpose, mind you. Perhaps subconsciously. I've always kind of thought about doing it, on the basis of the fact that I think Patient Zero is just a better all-around name than most regular names. I mean, Nicholas Rau Philpott or Patient Zero Philpott? You be the judge.
But I've got a rash on my left arm. It looks like the beginning stages of the chicken pox, but I've already had the chicken pox and the rash on my arm doesn't itch. According to Knocked Up, it could be herpes because it's on a rather large surface area, but I rather doubt that's the case.
What if it's fatal, though? I'm just too stinkin' pretty to die.
I mean, it's probably not fatal. It's probably like, steel filings that I didn't wash off properly after I ground steel in Kantner Hall a couple weekends ago. Or it could be from all the weird plants along Shafer Street on the way to look for houses and apartments and general lodging for next year. There's stuff there that looks like it's been transplanted out of the jungle. And everybody knows the consequences of taking the flora and fauna out of the jungle. That's right. Ebola. We've all seen Outbreak, with that crazy diseased monkey!
But still! Fatal?! Weak!
Knowing as much as I do about diseases (the Center for Disease Control ain't got nothin' on me), I would tentatively diagnose this rash as the early stages of an alien virus bent on taking over my body, but keeping my mind alert and active. It's been known to happen. People wonder how Dick Clark is still up and about every New Year's Eve; I have provided the answer. Thank me later. But with this alien virus, they (the Others, the E.T.'s, etc) can make me walk around and say things I don't want to say, while my mind has to stay alert and watch from behind my eyes! Watching through the windows of his eyeballs, cursed to always watch and never act, the same in demise as he was in life.
Such is life in ... The Twilight Zone!
Yes. Rod Sterling narrates my sci-fi/horror daydreams. Much the same as Morgan Freeman narrates my life lessons. I believe everyone should have narrators for their lives. For some reason my narrator when I'm working is Philip Marlowe from all the Raymond Chandler pulp novels.
I digress, though.
I don't trust Hudson Health Center to treat my arm. I mean, they'll probably just tell me it's nothing, give me some crackers and grape juice and send me home. Next thing I know, BAM. No more arm. So what am I left with? O'Bleness Memorial Hospital? Gypsy cures? Jedi healing meditation? Oh, actually, Jedi healing meditation could be cool. Hmm. I shall look into this at a later date. I've gotta figure out how I can solve this arm situation.
Captain's Log, Star Date ' Sept. 22, 2008: So I went to Hudson. It turns out that I may or may not have overreacted about the rash. They said it's nothing and I should just stop scratching it.
So...
I guess I'll be seeing you next week, readers.
Nick Philpott is a sophomore studying
playwriting and creative writing.
Send him your idea for a perfect Sunday
at np714907@ohiou.edu.
17 Archives
Nick Philpott
