Terrible Tuesdays: An CENSORED guide

    It was Tuesday.     Most of the time, a life-altering event happens on Friday; at least that's what I like to think. But this was a Tuesday. Specifically November 3rd, 3:17 PM, on an abnormally warm afternoon.     The world burned. I watched as my olive skin turned ashy white, boiled with the effects of an unknown attacker. A scream bellowed inside of my throat, but it was caught; the lump was so thick I could have sworn it was real. Each gasp that would be easy, breathable, air on a Friday afternoon left me empty, but there had been nothing easy about this; there had been nothing about my life that had been easy, but this was...a different level.     My hair went stark white as if the light instantly bleached it; the once black strains were cold, lifeless, and dry. As if any touch would cause it to cripple and fall to my feet. Still, I pulled and pulled, trying to grip myself together, trying not to feel the burning of my skin! Anything else would have been better than this!     Gripping my hair, I fell to my knees and tried to bury my pain in how tightly I could close my eyes. I remember thinking at that moment that I had a headache. Crazy right? With everything, I just described, one of the most apparent thoughts I had about that Tuesday was that I had a headache. It wasn't even like a migraine, just a typical headache, and it didn't hurt anything like the rest of my skin. I was probably even the one causing my headache from squeezing my eyes so tightly. I guess I find it ironic...not like really ironic, more like the ironic you say when you really mean funny.     Out of everything that happened on the worst day of my life, I remember the minor headache that tensed against my forehead, dinged like a welcome bell into an antique shop that I was forced to go to on my Saturday.     My stomach twisted and turned the way I pretended it did on Sunday night before a presentation in history class. The organs felt like they were trying to rip at my already boiled skin, and I was half confident they may indeed manage to break through if they were as determined as I was to avoid public speaking.     The hands that tore at my head pulled out clumps of hair how the Monday memes portrayed the stress of the day. The stock photos didn't mention that agonist throbbing that came with this comedic stick.     Eventually, my legs couldn't hold my weight with the pain that pulled me down, down to the earth, which I would gladly wish upon a star to be currently buried under. For a moment, I felt the fleeting relief of Wednesday, the knowledge that it wasn't over, but for a moment, I could embrace and recall that the end was soon. The relief only lasted for a moment before the back of my neck began its Lobster Spa Day Treatment. The solace was gone; I moved on.     Thursday didn't bring anything special in particular. I think my chest got heavier as I was sure oxygen wasn't getting fully into my lung, of course being gathered by the lump that was now signing the lease for where my tonsils had once resided. Truthfully, Thursday brought nothing special and nothing notable. I felt all this earlier in the week. If anything, it only made me sour, I could be dead by now, but Thursday was dragging me around, reminding me that I wasn't quite there yet.     Tears came to my eyes as Friday finally came. Life-altering events always come on Friday. Except, that's not true. I said earlier that my life-altering event happened on Tuesday. And while it had been Tuesday the entire time, I paired this extended metaphor to what I could only assume were my final moments; I laid on the sidewalk, four blocks away from the family's house...not even half-way there.                                                                                     I hate Tuesdays.     Also, I hate the Sun. It turns out you can be allergic to that. I have to admit, it's almost lovely having a greeting card from the universe that says Hey! You're a Mistake! In writing.     I should probably also mention; I'm not just allergic to the sun. I'm really allergic to the Sun, and I had my suspicions about this incredibly important information at about 3:18 PM, November 3rd...on a Tuesday.     I know what you're thinking: How does someone who has been on this planet for 16 years not know they're allergic to the sun? Surely he would have gone outside by now!     And I wondered that too at that moment, in between the screams of agony and the half-hearted attempts to bury myself like a groundhog. But what I concluded through many strenuous tests, and by that, I mean from Dr. Something-Something's long-winded diagnoses that I suddenly developed this allergy while walking home from school and also, I was not just allergic to the Sun; the Sun was my kryptonite in the most literal way I can say it.     No, really, kryptonite.     Like Superman.     Like superpowers.     Like I literally got superpowers, and the actual Sun, the thing humans need to survive, is actively trying to kill me.     Your Tuesday doesn't look so bad, now does it?     I don't mean to be such a downer. I mean, I was writhing in pain for a solid week, I mean a minute until a cloud covered the sun enough that I could drag myself under the shade from an apartment complex, which then gave enough relief to call 911.     Under the circumstances, I was thankful to be alive, even if horrifying to look at. My skin could barely even be called skin anymore- at least in my opinion. I mean, really, it looked like some special effect from a movie. However, it was really just an allergic reaction. I didn't have any burns where my t-shirt and jeans were. So it was mainly my arms and face.     I had forgotten my jacket in the gym. I didn't live that far away, and it was a surprisingly warm day for November. I thought I'd be fine. We visit our family up in Michigan every year for the holidays. I had tough skin; I had to keep up with my cousins. So the cold wasn't an issue.     Too bad that the cosmos was trying to end me.     It nearly succeeded too, ah, but I'm stubborn and clung to life as a stray dog clings to your lunch that you set down for a moment at most.     I've always considered this my biggest flaw, yes, even now, and even then. I'm too stubborn just to die. I don't even know exactly why either. I suppose it's a natural instinct, but I'm not so sure. Either way, I did survive. I managed to call 911, survived the prodding and poking with needles, and I even got through the part where they declared me to have some kind of rare genetic defect that made the Sun literally hate me all in the same life-altering event.     The question really remaining was how I would survive the next Tuesday?