Today, the death toll remains the same. Perhaps the epidemic is over. Perhaps. Oh, but what of tomorrow?

Hopefully this week will go by smoothly, with no more dead fish and no more injured roommates. The head injury I've sustained is going to make it rather hard to trek across campus to the bus stop with a dead fish in a cup, or an injured roommate, for that matter.

Last night, you see, I hit my head. Really fucking hard. On Heather's bed. Because that fucker Derek was making me laugh. Something about no wonder all the bettas are dying--they live in the same tank. Something to that extent. I wouldn't know. My head came in contact with Heather's bed before he could finish the sentence. It was a shock to all of us, believe me. And, man, did it make one fantastic comic-book style thunk!

I think I have a permanent recession in the back of my skull now. What if it never goes back? My God, then I'll be deformed. And what happens, then, when I get cancer and lose all my hair and my freakish skull recession is exposed to the world, raising the question: "Dude, what the fuck happened to your head?" How am I supposed to answer? I won't know if they're referring to the indentation or the fact that I no longer have hair. And even then, what kind of person asks that to someone who obviously (I mean, seriously, imagine it) has cancer? Heartless bastards.

Forunately, for now, I have youthful, Shelley-esque thick hair. And no one will know. So my deformity will remain relatively unknown. If and when I do get cancer, however, the exposure of my head dent is completely Derek's fault. For the record.