I saw my doctor yesterday. Waited two hours and fifteen minutes to see him, and towards the end of the waiting I'd forgotten why I was there in the first place. I had given up four vials of my blood the week before -- trying to find the cause of my tiredness, the cause of my elevated white blood cell count. Threw in some extra drops of blood for an HIV test -- ya never know. Well, I'm negative, so now I'm ready to fuck. Any takers?
Anyway . . . I so easily digress . . . my chest x-ray showed some sort of mass on my right lung. Then I had another x-ray taken, this time wearing special little stickers over my nipples -- apparently nipples can make shadows on x-rays that look like little masses. I don't think that I've ever been this irritated with my nipples before. Except maybe once when I wore this brand new black t-shirt bra-less and the black in the shirt dyed my nipples black and I had to scrub them with a loofah to get the color out, and then my nipples hurt like the dickens for days and days and days.
So maybe there's something wrong with my lung. I was slightly upset by the idea of all this for a little while and then I learned that friends and family aren't very supportive of their loved ones smoking when the more-real-than-ever possibility of lung cancer exists. So I've been without the almighty cigarette for about 35 hours and am crankier than hell. The up side is that I took the drug test today for my new job, so now I can smoke all the weed I want.
I hate taking drug tests for work. I feel like a freaking criminal in those situations. And how can I force myself to pee if I'm not allowed to run water in the bathroom to get me in the mood? After hours and hours of concentration I inevitably pee all over my hand as I try to get one stream of pee to go in the cup, and I can't wash my hands until they've got my "specimen". There's nothing like being nervous and pee-soaked. As usual I tested positive for PCP and opiates. And as usual they looked at me funny. I have some of the medications I take to thank for making my pee look suspicious.
I found one of my old journals from 1998. This entry made me laugh -- a suicide note:
With my death I hope and pray with all the intensity burning inside of me, that you will suffer. I have asked for help. I've received none. You've left me alone with this and I hate you all for it. To the "important" people in my life:
Dad, you've made my life miserable. Thank you. I'm now as fucked up as you are.
Mom, how does your garden grow? You care more for your flower beds than for your own daughter.
A. (my brother), you mean nothing to me. You never have.
P. (my husband), yours is one complete waste of a life. Perhaps you should get together with my dad. You have a lot in common.
Fuck you all.
___________________________
That was written April 30th. And the thing that made me laugh really hard was the beginning of the next journal entry, written May 4th:
Had a good weekend.
____________________________
Mwahahahahahahaha
Anyway . . . I so easily digress . . . my chest x-ray showed some sort of mass on my right lung. Then I had another x-ray taken, this time wearing special little stickers over my nipples -- apparently nipples can make shadows on x-rays that look like little masses. I don't think that I've ever been this irritated with my nipples before. Except maybe once when I wore this brand new black t-shirt bra-less and the black in the shirt dyed my nipples black and I had to scrub them with a loofah to get the color out, and then my nipples hurt like the dickens for days and days and days.
So maybe there's something wrong with my lung. I was slightly upset by the idea of all this for a little while and then I learned that friends and family aren't very supportive of their loved ones smoking when the more-real-than-ever possibility of lung cancer exists. So I've been without the almighty cigarette for about 35 hours and am crankier than hell. The up side is that I took the drug test today for my new job, so now I can smoke all the weed I want.
I hate taking drug tests for work. I feel like a freaking criminal in those situations. And how can I force myself to pee if I'm not allowed to run water in the bathroom to get me in the mood? After hours and hours of concentration I inevitably pee all over my hand as I try to get one stream of pee to go in the cup, and I can't wash my hands until they've got my "specimen". There's nothing like being nervous and pee-soaked. As usual I tested positive for PCP and opiates. And as usual they looked at me funny. I have some of the medications I take to thank for making my pee look suspicious.
I found one of my old journals from 1998. This entry made me laugh -- a suicide note:
With my death I hope and pray with all the intensity burning inside of me, that you will suffer. I have asked for help. I've received none. You've left me alone with this and I hate you all for it. To the "important" people in my life:
Dad, you've made my life miserable. Thank you. I'm now as fucked up as you are.
Mom, how does your garden grow? You care more for your flower beds than for your own daughter.
A. (my brother), you mean nothing to me. You never have.
P. (my husband), yours is one complete waste of a life. Perhaps you should get together with my dad. You have a lot in common.
Fuck you all.
___________________________
That was written April 30th. And the thing that made me laugh really hard was the beginning of the next journal entry, written May 4th:
Had a good weekend.
____________________________
Mwahahahahahahaha