Dragon Toast

Mad Jack and I are dying and it's all my fault.  You see I can't cook.  I didn't know you're supposed to cook frozen breaded chicken from frozen.  I thought you had to thaw it like regular uncooked chicken.  So when I served my honey and I a nice dinner and felt very proud of my good deed, I had no idea it would food poison us.  And now we're dying.

Also, I've become obsessed with toast.

So about three days ago I made this evil dinner.  As I was eating it I was even mentioning to Salty Meg (through a facebook chat) that there was something off about the sandwich. I thought it was the stale buns.

Literally, the conversation:
Me: Also, my buns are stale.
Salty: Lol.  Make bread pudding.  Or are we talking about your butt?
Me: That's for going into sexy places with that...

Later that night, Mad Jack had a really bad time.  He went to bed early and when I went to go to sleep like three hours later, he was shivering like a naked mole rat under all our blanket.  His face and head was incredibly red.  So I helped him get into warmer pajamas and hugged him and hoped he would be better in the morning.

He wasn't.  Mad Jack, without even trying to be funny, stumbled into walls, had trouble getting dressed, but was still going to NUIG.  At this point, I was starting to feel sharp pains in my stomach like he'd been describing and I realized we probably had the same thing, either a bug or food poisoning from said chicken.  I walked him to NUIG, because I was going to a tea house anyway and I didn't want him to walk into a moving car (which he almost did.  When I pulled him back, he then muttered, "she was stopping.")

He admits he was seeing double by the time we got to the school.  He took an easy day, sitting on the sidelines for his movement (the Pam ensemble class) and I went to the tea house and wrote.  Really gross things started happening to me in the bathroom about once an hour that I'm not going into more detail on.

I went to NUIG with the hope of running into Mad Jack (which I did, after coordinating on the phone).  Interesting fact about NUIG: it's about the size of Stockton but has twice as many students.  There is never anywhere to sit in the library.  But Mad Jack and I found comfy seat in a copy room and hung out (actually kind of laid on each other too exhausted and in pain to move).

Then he had too got to class in the Arts Millennium building.  Here's some pictures:




I love this place.  It combines building and sky!

Oddly this beautiful place is completely devoid of chairs or hallway furniture.  So we sat on the floor outside the room and waited for his class to start.  My intention was to stay there and write (there was an outlet on the wall).  As I was doing this a police officer approached me.

Now y'all know Capt. Bloody Thom Cash, doesn't like the popo.  They follow me, they find me, they ticket me, they show no mercy.  I'm thinking Irish cops are going to be the same, so I'm nervous and expecting him to be all: "PoTAto, Lassie, hobos can't be here.  Take this wee pink slip and pay the 60 euro fine for hall hobo-ing.  Whack-fa-la."
Actually he said, as if upset to be disturbing my writing,  "Excuse me, miss.  Do you know you can go into any o the empty classrooms around here?  Just make sure you leave when the classes change on the hour, in case there's another one coming in.  In fact, I think 109 over there is open."

So I think I like Irish cops.  It was weird.

Mad Jack got out of his class, found me in the room, then we went to The Cellar Bar (which is my favorite bar) and had fries and diet coke (and water).  And visited the bathrooms like once an hour to deal with the excruciating pain in our intestines.

The reason we didn't just go home, because you know we were dying, is because we had tickets to see Tuesday with Maurie.  Mad Jack gets to see like 15 plays for free because he's an MA theater student or whatever, so I get to see a bunch of plays because I want to, damn it.  And we were going to see this one.

I'm going to review it in a later post, but until then, here's a text I sent Mad Jack during intermission (we don't ever get to sit anywhere near each other)

This is the last time I see a comedy about death while I'm shitting fire and acid.

I promise that's as gruesomely descriptive as this will get...

Anyways, because we are still both visibly sick as dead dogs, a nice lady in the department named Bridey (spelling?  what a cool fricken name) gives us a ride home.  So kind of her.  We both would have collapsed in a ditch on the way home if not for Bridey, which would be an accomplishment because I don't think there are any ditches along the way...

Once at home, I get a taste of what Mad Jack went through the night before, incredible chills, burning fever, and constantly waking from sleep for bathroom trips.  Also, a little thing Mad Jack somehow escaped: I start hallucinating.
I think it's because I wore a sweater to bed and though I was experiencing chills, my body temperature had to be higher than normal.  The cause is unimportant because the hallucinations were funny.

So they started mildly.  I thought I could write a career-propelling article for cracked.com (which is a great site that everyone must see).  The topic was going to be how screwed up play rehearsals are in Ireland.  That's right... I was going to write an informed and hilarious article on a topic which I know nothing about.
And yet, I was able to write it in my head, intro, conclusion, supporting paragraphs... I think I even had citations... it was sick.

Then I started thinking - and this is somehow related to the purple chalice I was drinking water from to try to stay hydrated while making hourly trips to my friend the toilet- that if I did not beat this sickness tonight, everyone in a small country would die.

The country was one from my story.  It's called Tolemac, though I kept calling it Aedem which is that country's enemy; I don't know how I was confused.  The point was if I succumbed to the pains in my stomach then all of the humans in Tolemac would die.  Not that the story would never be written if for some reason a stomach bug/food poisoning managed to kill me.  No, the imaginary people would all suffer horrible deaths if I didn't get better.

Also purple chalice.

Later in the night, I spent hours trying to figure out how both Mad Jack and I were stupid enough to eat a piece of glass.  So there was that...  Eventually I figured out it couldn't be glass, because then it would have cut our throats and we've be dead and not just dying.  So clearly, it was ice.  A piece of ice that for some reason would not melt and was causing me great internal pain.

Mad Jack was trying to eat the world.  Then when he promised he wouldn't eat the world anymore.  He was accidentally swallowing the world as he yawned.

At some point I slept... I removed the sweater and stopped hallucinating.  I woke up at about 8:30 when my alarm went off, tossed that shit across the room, then fell asleep again until 12 maybe 1.  Then I realized I had not eaten since the fries at the cellar.

So toast happened.  I meant to eat it dry (which in my head was good for stomach sickness), then I forgot and had jam.  Then I noticed this and made Mad Jack help me take a picture of:

But this is what I was seeing:

Dragon Toast!

At this point, I decided I should go back to bed... and write this blog.

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