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"a jazz-hands metaphor"
Mar. 15th, 2013 06:25 pmI could have sworn I'd written something between the biscuit post and now, but apparently not. Or I wrote it and then promptly consigned it to the void.
I walked something like four miles on wednesday and then slept like a log. Sleep is amazing. I didn't quite manage to duplicate the feat yesterday, but I managed at least three, between to and from the bus stop, walking the dog, the treadmill, and then walking to the farm share fair from Harvard Square and back, and then to the interesting people's house for interesting stories and really good food.
Today is another, different story. Today kind of sucked.
I decided that I didn't have the oopmh to go to the lecture on self-esteem and gender. But, then I had finally made an appointment with a new primary care doctor, having made the decision based almost entirely upon convenience of location after months of avoiding dealing with the fact that my last doctor had left, said she was returning, and then decided not to return. (I've gone through so many doctors). However, they neglected to call me to tell me my appointment was canceled. So, I show up, they tell me that they called me (though mysteriously, they did not leave a message nor did my cell phone show any missed calls) and my appointment is canceled.
I burst into tears and can't stop. And they try to determine if I have an urgent concern, if I want to see a doctor on a provisional basis, but that would just mean that I needed to come back again, and tell all the horrible stories to yet another person. (Dear gods, I would pay cash money for no doctor/nurse to ever ask me again when my last period was, or tell me I was overdue for a mammo) And then it all snowballed, and I trudge up Walnut street sobbing, and decide that the entire world is against me, and that I'm doomed to an eternity of struggling uphill to do things I really, truly do not want to do.
And then it gets worse. I shriek like a banshee, and try to make bargains where I tell the universe I'll deal with this bullshit if it gives me my cat back, and then I yell at my dog as she tries to lick tears off my face for not being my cat. And then I crank the heat, proceed to binge on a made-for-hulu tv series, and steadfastly refused to do dishes or laundry or go to the library and return books or mop the floor.
Tomorrow will be a better day. And then the day after, I'll go to Northampton for Unexpected's birthday and that will be awesome. For now, I just need to go wash my glasses.
I walked something like four miles on wednesday and then slept like a log. Sleep is amazing. I didn't quite manage to duplicate the feat yesterday, but I managed at least three, between to and from the bus stop, walking the dog, the treadmill, and then walking to the farm share fair from Harvard Square and back, and then to the interesting people's house for interesting stories and really good food.
Today is another, different story. Today kind of sucked.
I decided that I didn't have the oopmh to go to the lecture on self-esteem and gender. But, then I had finally made an appointment with a new primary care doctor, having made the decision based almost entirely upon convenience of location after months of avoiding dealing with the fact that my last doctor had left, said she was returning, and then decided not to return. (I've gone through so many doctors). However, they neglected to call me to tell me my appointment was canceled. So, I show up, they tell me that they called me (though mysteriously, they did not leave a message nor did my cell phone show any missed calls) and my appointment is canceled.
I burst into tears and can't stop. And they try to determine if I have an urgent concern, if I want to see a doctor on a provisional basis, but that would just mean that I needed to come back again, and tell all the horrible stories to yet another person. (Dear gods, I would pay cash money for no doctor/nurse to ever ask me again when my last period was, or tell me I was overdue for a mammo) And then it all snowballed, and I trudge up Walnut street sobbing, and decide that the entire world is against me, and that I'm doomed to an eternity of struggling uphill to do things I really, truly do not want to do.
And then it gets worse. I shriek like a banshee, and try to make bargains where I tell the universe I'll deal with this bullshit if it gives me my cat back, and then I yell at my dog as she tries to lick tears off my face for not being my cat. And then I crank the heat, proceed to binge on a made-for-hulu tv series, and steadfastly refused to do dishes or laundry or go to the library and return books or mop the floor.
Tomorrow will be a better day. And then the day after, I'll go to Northampton for Unexpected's birthday and that will be awesome. For now, I just need to go wash my glasses.
