Tiny chihuahuas probably need at least a few pillows to see out the window
I've been working really hard these past few weeks, trying as hard as I might to get my Biology and Chemistry done. It's damn hard work, guys, going back to being a teenager when you're actually almost at retirement age, but feel more like you're about to hit the ground six feet under.
In other words, instead of this:
I am like this:
but feel like this:
Very confusing. I know.
I can only imagine what college will be like in the fall, when I walk into the classroom on the first day, and everyone in there (including the professor) could easily be my grandchild. I can hardly wait.
The prospect has definitely had me stressed out, to say the least. I am either going to be pitied, ignored, or laughed at. None of these choices are good.
I can see it now: I am being tested in CPR, and I run out of steam partway into the examination. I just can't do it. I don't have the energy, the stamina, the wherewithal to bring the fake person back to life. But, instead of failing me, putting a big red X beside my name, my classmates band together and force the teacher to pass me because I'm an old geezer and am actually now the subject of the test itself since I've now gone into cardiac arrest thanks to the stupid test in question. I win.
Or here's another scenario: One of my classmates ends up being this hot guy who actually pays attention to me. We are paired up for a practice session on mending a broken leg. I am the patient. Hunk begins tending to my knee, but mistakenly gropes my breast, since my breasts now hang down to my knees thanks to gravity, menopause, and nursing children. Again, I win, because I got a free grope by a hot young pseudo-paramedic.
Or, here's yet another scenario for you to gnaw on: We're in gym class, and are told to go for a 45-minute run.Off we toddle, in a group, everyone with lithe, smooth legs in shorts, and short-sleeved shirts that show off muscles and tautness. And then there's me: my legs are varicosed, cellulite has gobbled most of them up, and my wobbles now have wobbles. We won't even talk about my arms. Meanwhile, everyone starts running. Except me, that is. I walk. Then I hobble. Then I sit on a rock and wait until I see classmates returning. I then get up and start making my way back to the school. As my classmates catch up to me, they are all impressed that I've beaten them all and am actually ahead of them, and without much sweat to speak of. I win again.
I've gotta remember that trick.
The point is, I'm old, and I think I'm actually insane. Certifiably. Although I just Googled "oldest paramedic" and came up with a story of a 78-year-old guy who passed all the tests and is the oldest living and working paramedic. I'm grasping, people. Grasping for anything, obviously.
Tomorrow I have to find an old ambulance to rent so that I can practise backing into parking spaces without taking off fenders, or tiny children and chihuahuas. Or tiny chihuahuas driving ambulances. Although they'd definitely need a few pillows to sit on so that they could see out the windshield.