The Cliffs of Insanity

Today was doctor day.  I went to see Dr. Harrington at 11 and my new primary care physician at 2:30.  In between appointments, I slummed at Starbucks and surfed the Internet, but only after I tripped on a crack in the sidewalk and fell, seemingly to my death, only for the sidewalk to catch me - and my computer!  Thankfully, the comp wasn’t damaged.  

Anyone who tends to be mega-clumsy, has seizures, or is prone to passing out, needs to switch to the Mac because their computers are tough as fucking nails.

Anyway, I hadn’t seen Dr. Harrington since September.  It was my intention not to really get into anything, just get my prescriptions refilled, and be on my way.  Considering I’d just gone through another horribleday without Aunt Tudi, I wasn’t in the mood to rehash crap.  Somehow, though, he got me to talking about when the Parental Units broke up and what happened with me in the immediate aftermath.  I’m tired of talking about that.  When I go back to him, in July, I’m not walking down that road again.  There’s no reason to go there.

The new doctor was very thorough and took his time.  He concluded what I already had, that I had acute bronchitis.  I’m on a 5-day regimen of prednisone, and he wants to see me again on Monday, if the cough is no better.  I like him.  He does have funny hands, though.  They’re shiny and hairless.  He’s not particularly shiny anywhere else, but those hands would gleam in the sunlight.  I have already dubbed them Mannequin Hands.

I’m back at the house now, and thoroughly exhausted.  I have not been out for so long since in the first of the year.  Did I like it?  Can’t say as I did, being a hermit and all.