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9.30.2003 | link |


my doctor’s front desk receptionist cancelled my appointment for this afternoon, after making me wait 2 months for the 6 lucky minutes in the presence of my physician. so instead, i can spend the time catching up on the insane amounts of word-organization jobs that are coming across my desk these days. i just can’t call it “writing” anymore. it’s too painfully uncreative. guess i'll wait another 8 days for the indifferent medical assistant to take my blood pressure and weigh me and dress me up in a paper gown so that my doctor can tornado in and out of the embarrassingly-bright exam room, jotting down notes she doesn't tell me about, making me feel like i'm paranoid and amusing (in a sad way) and basically socially inept -- like i just don't know when to stop asking questions. don't i know she's busy?

i’m not ill. but everything tastes like peanut butter to me today. is that weird?

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