I am hooked up to a machine, with every brain wave being encoded, no evil thought (or evil peak in those meaningless lines that are supposed to be related to my thought process. My head is wrapped in very sterile-looking gauze, and at first glance I appear to be dying. Actually, at every braced glance at the mirror, there is something desperate and horrific about my appearance. I look absolutely terrifying, even by my standards. This has been the dullest Saturday I've had in months. The glue in my hair is about as disgusting as you would imagine, especially given that I'm not six years old and/or apathetic about the hair that took forgodammever to grow. I've been told it comes out, but the woman's expression the entire time looked somewhat shell-shocked and her laugh was too flat for me to be content that she was the one hooking me up to a seizure machine. For some reason, my friends really liked the idea of me having electrodes attached to my head; the idea of an impromptu indie sci-fi flick came up several times. Yeah, understandable, they aren't spending their Saturdays at the whim of a machine often used for autistic kids. I really hope I never get cancer.