Constellationitus
Did you know that if you look up the title of this entry, Google will only take .44 seconds to show you that only two results appear? Well maybe now it's three.
The other day at work they were talking about this app where you can make up diseases and see how many people they take out. Morbid, yes, totally, but it seemed to be marketed more towards the middle school age. The girl who mentioned it said that her 15 year old brother had made up a disease he brilliantly called "Math." It's still killing, if you can believe it. I think that if I had to make up a disease, not being a 13 year old middle school boy, but a 22 year old girl who eats a lot of barbecue chips, I would name it constellationitus.
You'd think I'd be immune to it, due to the fact that I can't ever spot constellations in the sky. To me it all just looks like a beautiful jumble of stars, all perfectly mixed together, not pointing in a certain direction or forming any shape. They're almost chaotic. I remembered when we had to go and point out constellations like the Big Dipper or the North Star for a checkmark in our Girls Camp manuals. At the end of our star gaze I just lied and pointed up at the sky, faking my way through. My box was checked and I just prayed that if I was ever lost in the desert and had to look up at the stars to lead the way, that Renata or Fran would be there to tell me all about which group of stars named after ancient empires could take me back home. So when I woke up and saw the stars on my legs, I oohed and I awed at how clearly they shined, plain as day.
They say the diagnosis is constellationitus and I do believe I have it.
I have a line of purple stars on my thigh that could point east or west. As medical professionals often do, I took a pen and outlined them to see what shape they would make. I decided, looking down at my leg that they made an upside down mountain, with snow on top. My constellation is made up of five purple prints which point west. You can tell because the sister constellation on my other thigh of two stars will be to the east.
After two weeks the stars are exploding now, turning into yellow green supernovas and burning into light brown like my skin. Soon enough there won't be any trace of them, they won't even hurt. I won't see them every time I change my clothes, taking an extra minute to observe how the colors deepen. I want to say that time cures everything, but I'm no doctor, and there is no app to tell me how long it will take for the memories they left behind to fade away into the night sky.
The other day at work they were talking about this app where you can make up diseases and see how many people they take out. Morbid, yes, totally, but it seemed to be marketed more towards the middle school age. The girl who mentioned it said that her 15 year old brother had made up a disease he brilliantly called "Math." It's still killing, if you can believe it. I think that if I had to make up a disease, not being a 13 year old middle school boy, but a 22 year old girl who eats a lot of barbecue chips, I would name it constellationitus.
You'd think I'd be immune to it, due to the fact that I can't ever spot constellations in the sky. To me it all just looks like a beautiful jumble of stars, all perfectly mixed together, not pointing in a certain direction or forming any shape. They're almost chaotic. I remembered when we had to go and point out constellations like the Big Dipper or the North Star for a checkmark in our Girls Camp manuals. At the end of our star gaze I just lied and pointed up at the sky, faking my way through. My box was checked and I just prayed that if I was ever lost in the desert and had to look up at the stars to lead the way, that Renata or Fran would be there to tell me all about which group of stars named after ancient empires could take me back home. So when I woke up and saw the stars on my legs, I oohed and I awed at how clearly they shined, plain as day.
They say the diagnosis is constellationitus and I do believe I have it.
I have a line of purple stars on my thigh that could point east or west. As medical professionals often do, I took a pen and outlined them to see what shape they would make. I decided, looking down at my leg that they made an upside down mountain, with snow on top. My constellation is made up of five purple prints which point west. You can tell because the sister constellation on my other thigh of two stars will be to the east.
After two weeks the stars are exploding now, turning into yellow green supernovas and burning into light brown like my skin. Soon enough there won't be any trace of them, they won't even hurt. I won't see them every time I change my clothes, taking an extra minute to observe how the colors deepen. I want to say that time cures everything, but I'm no doctor, and there is no app to tell me how long it will take for the memories they left behind to fade away into the night sky.
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