Charlotte the giant St. John's Cross spider has vanished. I think that she's dead. The reason I think this is that I have found a bunch of baby St. John's Cross spiders around my room. They are not following in the footsteps of their namesakes by jumping off to parts unknown on little webbed parachutes-- no, these seem to prefer to build their webs in my clothes. When I find them I don't exactly do a somersault and give them a name like Wilber did-- the lucky ones gets tossed outside.
After my week of teaching Health to the class one students, I more or less have become the official CLC nurse. Injured students will either seek me out or avoid me depending on the nature of their injury. One of the volunteers has pinkeye [insert South Park joke here]. One student, Laulang, came to me with what he claimed was a “sick” or sprained wrist. Not broken or terribly swollen, I diagnosed it as a minor sprain and told him not to move it. When he seemed unhappy with my diagnosis I offered to splint it for him with bamboo and tape. He turned me down but still looked so unhappy that I went against the advice in “Where There Is No Doctor” and tried to interest him in a Tylenol, but that was turned down as well.
Sigh came into class with huge sores on his leg from God knows what but I was more concerned about the massive amounts of purple gunk around the wound. After class I marched him down to the shower hole and got him to wash it throughly while trying to find out what he'd put on it. Two bandaids and I pronounced him cured, telling him not to think of putting anything else on the spot. Two hours later, the bandaids were gone and he had no clue what I was talking about when I asked him why he'd taken them off. This time he got bandaids and some bright red electrical tape wrapped around his legs. That seems to have done the trick.
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