Thursday, August 27, 2009
Monday, August 24, 2009
Ok... someone's gotta die.
I spend a week out at Mom's, which was ok except that the summer weather out there makes me sick as hell, then my relationship goes south (no fault to the person I was dating, but it's still a downer), then I get to go see one of my favorite movies Evil Dead 2 at the magnificent Ohio Theater and when I get home I discover that I have another red spot on my leg which indicates I have another infection.
Since it's well after 1 AM by that point I have to go to the emergency room where I stay till 7 AM. After having been stuck in every vein in my right arm they send me home with prescriptions and orders to see my physician ASAP. Not a problem, I said, I have an appointment with her on Monday.
See, I was supposed to see her last Wednesday about my stomach muscles continuing to rip open (which I see as something of a problem) but the appointment got canceled when my doctor called in sick. So I get an automated call on Thursday telling me I have an appointment on Monday, what would you think? You'd think that was a reschedule right? Now ask me why I'm fucking pissed...
I get to the office at 10 for my 10:30 appointment. I sit there till 11:30. They don't call me back. Eventually someone informs me that I was there for the weight loss group.
This was news to me.
I was moderately pissed.
I decide to go to the meeting just so that next time someone asked me I could say I'd been to one and have the paperwork to back it up. They ask me what my story is and I explain my whole story and how my hernia is my hurdle towards fixing my weight problem and they agreed.
They said, well we can't do anything to help that. Why are you here?
Now, I try really, really hard on your average day to not stab anybody, but today I really fucking wanted to. I wanted to stab someone in the fucking face in front of their fucking mother. Not only did I not get to talk to my doctor about my renewed concerns over my stomach and show her the infection in my leg, but I wasted a whole day going to this stupid fucking meeting where even they tell me I shouldn't fucking be there.
Buuut, while I AM there they go ahead and give me the lecture about how it's my fault I'm fat and I'm only not losing weight because I stubbornly refuse to make myself thin by doing whatever stupid fucking thing they've decided this week will make me thin, and it really ticks me off that these things are always disputed as soon as I start doing them. So it's my fault I'm fat if I don't do your new diet that's going to be discredited right after I go out and buy all the bland shit they say I'm supposed to eat, and since I refuse to do the thing in question then they're justified in telling me I've got a lot of nerve for wanting medical help.
DOCTOR: “All you have to do to lose weight is stand on your head and eat nothing but peanut-butter!"
ME: “Well that sounds fucking stupid, but you're a doctor, so here goes...”
DOCTOR: “Wait! What are you doing?”
ME: “I'm doing the thing you said to do...”
DOCTOR: “Well stop it, it'll fucking kill you!”
After that happens a few times the only sane response is to quit playing the fucking game, but when you quit playing they use that as a means of further denying you, so you're just fucked.
So I have until Thursday to renew my driver's license, which I could have done today if not for the fucking medical snipe hunt I got sent on. Well, I suppose I could do it today still, they're open for 2 more hours, but I already want to stab someone and that's the feeling you're supposed to LEAVE the DMV having, you don't want to go in there already feeling that way.
That's how people get stabbed.
But guess what? It's my fucking birthday Thursday! And what a fucking great fucking birthday it's shaping up to fucking be!
I have plans to go out with groups of friends on Friday and Saturday nights and, in all seriousness, both promise to be a lot of fun. I just hope I'm not too much of a mopey pain in the ass for everyone to enjoy themselves.
PS: Just went out to go to the DMV. My car won't start. The starter is finally dead. It'll cost me about $30 to fix if I do it myself, but I just don't have it in me today.
PPS: Just a thought, but the last bit of life in my car's starter would have gotten me to the DMV had I not wasted it going to my bogus doctor's appointment.