1/100. Best.

A hundred of anything is a lot. One time, I completed a writing assignment in college that had to include a hundred-word sentence. It had to be grammatically correct and I loved it. (The rest of the assignment was no piece of cake either. The whole piece had to be 26 sentences long, each sentence starting with the next consecutive letter of the alphabet and had to have that hundred-word sentence somewhere in there.

I love a challenge. And so that’s why I am taking on the Livejournal “100 Things” blogging challenge. Since I don’t use LJ very much anymore, I am doing it here. And because I am a memoir blogger, I’m not going to attempt to do book reviews or recipes, although both sound tempting. Instead, I am going to try to write 100 mini-memoirs, each one about a day. A best or a worst day.

And, no time like the present. So, without further ado:


I drove to Boston for what was then my annual Spring Break visit back home. I had two weeks, counting finals week because I never give a final and I spent all my vacation time in Boston. I felt a tickle in my throat as I got onto the Mass Pike.

By the time I got to Greenfield to visit an old roommate and friend, I was flat-out sick. I powered through, though, because it was v a c a t i o n! She cooked us dinner (which was awesome) and made homemade chocolate chip cookies, which I scarfed in the middle of the night like I had never seen food before. The rough, crumbling edges of the too-crisp cookies felt like sweet relief against my raw throat and in the morning, she drove me to a convenient store where they still had the spinning-cup Slush Puppy machine. I made myself a huge grape one, letting the ice numb me.

Oh my god. I was so sick. It just got worse from there. I kept trying to power through and it just kept getting worse. I had to cancel a sleepover with my 7-year-old nephew, much to both of our disappointment. I wandered hazily around the Children’s Museum and just kept looking for places to sit and rest. Finally, my mother took me to the ER, where I fully expected to be diagnosed with Strep, but was instead sent home with an info sheet about pseudoephedrine and its relative safety. (For what it’s worth, I was later diagnosed with a double sinus infection and double ear infection, both of which took upwards of four weeks to clear up because I wasn’t allowed to take anything stronger than Amoxicillin.)

None of this is what I am writing about, though. These were the shit days that led up to the best one. March 21, 2008. It was a Friday. 13dpiui, for those to whom that makes any sense. I had no voice whatsoever. It wasn’t just raspy or hoarse. It was gone. And my eyes were, well, stuck shut. I had to pry them open in the morning. It was not pretty. Nevertheless, I called m*, who was back at home in Philly, and with her on the phone, I peed on a stick.

See? Not pretty. I'm sorry I made you look at that.

See? Not pretty. I’m sorry I made you look at that.

As the test line slowly and ever-so-faintly started to pink up, I wheezed, “It’s not nothing! It’s not nothing!” I jumped up and down. Fevery forehead, goopy eyes and all. “It’s not nothing!”

And, of course, it turned out to be the furthest from nothing that ever there was.

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