Artists rendition of my white blood cellsDay 8: In the third grade, I fell onto a strip of barbwire and got a cut that ran from calf to kneecap. Being so small, that was about a third of my body size at that point. There was blood everywhere, but it only took four hours for the gash to seal up and scab over, while this bread cut, less than a centimeter and barely able to draw blood, has festered open over the last eight days, growing in size and pain. The human body has like a million ways to deal with cuts on the outside, but when it's inside, it just drops a few bags of puss on top and hopes for the best? Is this the best my body can do in helping itself? Have there been budget cuts in the healing department? Is my immune system on strike?
Day 9: No. Not strike. My immune system would never let me down. Not by choice at least. Something must be oppressing it. Oh my god. No. No it can't be. Could it? It has to be. There are no other possibilities. It's AIDS. It all makes sense. I mean, what else could it be? Now my lower lip and my T Helper Cells are screwed. I know not to share needles with junkies, but what about sandwiches? Did a heroin addict make my pastrami on rye? This is terrible. Before I was just being dramatic, but now this is serious. Tomorrow I'll go see someone more knowledgeable.
Day 10: Mom says it isn't AIDS. She might be right.
Day 11: Feeling stronger. The canker sore is in remission. Chance of survival: 80%. If I make it out of this alive, I'll be the new Magic Johnson and tour the world lecturing about the importance of bread safety.
Day 12: I ate an orange today without crying. A few days ago I was almost dead from AIDS. Look how far I've Early sketch of canker sore protectioncome. If I make it out of this, I'll be sure to write an inspirational autobiography. Give hope to people all around the world.
Day 13: Healed. I don't know how or why. A miracle, I guess. Now, to make sure this never happens again. Diet reform, preventative safety guards for the gums, the whole deal. Protection first, that's my new motto.
Day 14: So, umm, I started working on the whole safety thing this morning. And, for awhile, it went great. But then I got hungry, so I headed over to the deli and got a turkey club. And, well, you'll never believe what happened. But don't worry, it probably isn't anything.
Sometimes I dream that I'm sitting in the back of the defunct Weinermobile as it careens driverless down the highway. At first I thought this was symbolic of the powerlessness I feel in life, but then I realized it's actually the Weinermobile's dream of being able to drive again.
Three years ago, when we were burying my uncle, Cleaver and some gross lady dog (Solstice???) showed up at the cemetery and starting going at it really loudly. It ruined everything and we had to have a "re-do" the next day and it cost a fortune. I've hated him ever since for that.
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