Sunday, September 30, 2007

Here we go again!

My throat is sore tonight, boooo. It's something about having a day off where my body goes into Attention Seeking Mode and finds some ailment for me to complain about. And it's blinking annoying. I have transplant clinic on Tuesday and I'll end up saying "well I'm ok..except now because I have a sore throat, but apart form that, the last couple weeks have been ok..oh except 1o days ago when I was on those IVs for that nasty chest infection which lowered my lung function, and for the month before that on those useless oral yeah, apart from all that, I'm ok!". Not even *I* can except them to figure how to deal with me on that one. The worst part is not being able to talk. What am I supposed to do during lectures?!

I've always talked through classes from when I was a tiny tot. I must annoy everyone by doing it, but I can hardly sit speechless for hours upon end, now can I?!

Surprisingly though, I developed a 'talk and listen at the same time' method from a young age. I have an uncanny ability to natter away and subconsciously be aware of what the teacher is saying at the same time. It used to frustrate teachers no end, when they'd suddenly pick on me to answer a question, expecting that I'd blush and say 'sorry?' and they'd say 'you see! You weren't listening, pay attention!'. They'd have to settle for a "well, you got lucky...uh...stop talking!".

At the age of eight, I was in third class and the topic we were working on was houses. I was talking to the person beside me when my name got called. My head shot up, I glanced at the blackboard, down at my book and having heard "types of houses" moments before, I guessed he was asking me what style I lived in. To be sure, I asked question back,

"What type house do *I* live in??" I said, making it look like I was half thinking about my answer

"That was the question..." he replied in a smart arse way.

As I hummed and hawed, I peeked at my workbook, and spotted the house that looked a bit like mine.

"Detached" I said firmly.

"Wrong" he replied as though the word had been bouncing on the tip of his tongue from the minute he pounced on me. He walked away, continuing to prattle on to the class about types of houses (is it any wonder I was distracted?!). Confused I looked back at my work book. My house didn't resemble the terrace house picture, nor the bungalow and it certainly wasn't a house boat / boat house. No, it was definitely the detached one. Or the semi-detached one, but, no, it was the detached one, for sure.

"Emmm, I DO live in a detached house" I blurted out. The teacher spun around surprised.

"Sorry?" He said, had he been talking and not listening (sadly my sense of wit wasn't that developed so young - drats)??

"I do live in a detached house" I said confidently.

"No, you live in a semi detached house" he said in a huh-huh-huh, 'too cool for school' manner.

"No, I *don't*, my house is detached". By this stage everyone in the class was watching us, their heads bouncing from left to right, like spectators at a tennis match.

"Where do you live?" he asked me.

"__insert rough name of address__" I wasn't going to give this nutter my full address.

"Then you live in a semi detached house" he said, nodding his head, yet less confident then the first time. How did this chip know what my house looked like. Did he have a map in his head that told him what every house in the country looked like on every single road? WRONG.

"I. LIVE. IN. A. DE---TACH---ED. HOUSE-UH!!...I think I'd know! " I said in an exasperated voice. I mean, it's true, I would know!

He stared at me for a few silent seconds, mouth open like a perfect golf hole; the whole class were sitting tentatively wondering what he was going to say (even I wondered what he was going to do); He then did, what so many people in my life have done since, he just said, in a straight, firm, but conversation ending voice "OK..." and he slowly backed away. Oh yikes, I'd scared him!

After a few more moments, he cleared his throat, and carried on with the class. Just like that.

I must add, I was always a very polite student in school, but hated it when people spoke to me like I was a child. Ok I was eight, so technically still a child, and normally eight year old little girls, with immaculate appearances aren't supposed to "talk back" but he called me wrong and I was right. WRONG, WRONG, WRONG. Oh how he'd have loved to suffocate me with an immuno-suppressant or ten!

So now that I'm preserving my voice, this leaves me little opportunity to scare off any more educators: the ones in college haven't clocked me yet, the mask has yet to slip, muahahaha!