Dear Die-ary...

Like my crappy 'shopped picture? It is very horrible. Works great for an MSN display picture.

First off, let me tell you about my HORRIBLE history lesson. It was very horrible. I like that word. Anyway, the teacher hands my work back, and says how she liked it. Only a few corrections to do. Other than that, well done me. I look at my mark. Sh1t as usual. She does not like me. She does not like me at all. And my neighbor, LP (you know who you are... >:D) boasts at her ever-so high mark (teacher's pet?), and demands me to admit she's the greatest in the world. Seems more like a plan than a compliment.

Now my HORRIBLE injectionection. I slapped on some numbing cream an hour before I was due to die. Jade runs to the back, leaving me first in line. Needles are one of the few fears I have, however for some reason, I quite enjoy blood tests. I refused to move with the crowd cowering behind me. Evil steps up and says, "For God's sake!" and moves to the front, and into the room. I followed. The same demonic woman was sitting at a desk, asking for Evil's name. I looked around. Crying, wailing people were there, keeling over with pain. I felt like I was in a room full of zombies. My attention was quickly diverted to the demonic woman sitting at the desk. "Your name??" she commanded in a bellowing voice. I told her, and as if by magic, produced a form with my name and details on it. I stood by the desk. Suddenly, a girl got up and I was to take her place. I hesitated, and moved over.

I sat on the chair provided. The woman there handed me a sheet and asked if the answer was 'yes' to any of them. They were the standard, "Have you had an injection recently?"-type questions. And I have to say this to 2 of the questions:

• "Are you ill today?" Well, if I was ill, I wouldn't be in skool, would I?
• "Are you pregnant?" .........no comment. o_0

She leant over and produced a needle. Instinctively, I flinched. She moved it closer and closer to my arm...Suddenly, my hand slapped over my arm. "It's ok," she said, while covering my hand with hers. I scowled back at her. This was a repeat of last year, with the BCG, instead this time I didn't try to knock the needle out of her hand, or have to come back and have it done later. She then asked if I knew why I needed this done, which I confirmed. She then went on explaining that if I didn't get it done, I wouldn't be allowed into some countries and therefore I couldn't go on holidays. "I can live with that," I replied. She started getting aggitated, as it seemed obvious I wasn't going to give in that easily. Eventually, I lowered my hand. She started talking calmly to me again, while shoving the needle into my arm. I then realised that the numbing cream didn't help it. I scrunched up my eyes as the fluid gushed into my blood stream. Then, unknowingly, I started growling. I got louder, and louder...until she pulled out the needle and all was done. I was then given a free gift of a letter, complimented with some cotton wool, and sat down on a chair at the back. Soon I got out, where I shouted, "Don't believe the lies!!" at Nikki (She mentions this in her blog).

Now, several hours later, my arm stings. I thought I was the only one whose arm stung, but it turns out everyone else's arms sting too. I think my fear of needles comes from a past life or something. Maybe I was a rabbit who got put down. Or maybe a lab monkey or lab mouse who was pumped full of drugs.

Whatever it is, I've hated needles ever since I was a tiny Irken smeet (baby).