(I linked "go" in the previous paragraph because, if you follow the link, you will say that "go" is described as a synonym for "say" under the ninth definition for the use of the word as a transitive verb. More importantly, this usage is not marked as informal! Has ValleySpeak, of which I am soundly and no longer ironically guilty, finally moved up the linguistic rungs?)
I am the American chicken. I am the one who fluttered and pecked her way out of the doctor's appointment for tomorrow. C'mon, how I can break my no-medical-care streak just twoish months before the ten year anniversary?
And is there really any point in going to the doctor when you're fat? I remember weighing 150 (which seemed obese at the time) and not being able to get a doctor to look at my recurring sore ankle because I "probably just needed to lose some weight." I remember bleeding 17-21 days out of each month and being told it was probably because of "extreme changes" in my weight, and to just go on the Pill. "But I've been this weight for a year, and got there quite gradually," I said. "Uh huh. Anyway, if you'll just sign this form..."
One noteable time aside (when I had mono), I never had good luck with doctors. Although, you know, this doctor's office that I just bailed on seems really nice, like spookily Disney-like so, so if I ever do break down and see a physician again, I definitely want to give them another go. They were totally cool about me rescheduling my appointment. Which I will reschedule "later." Which they may well know means "never."
I'm sure I just had heat exhaustion. And I've been feeling a lot better since yesterday. So there you go. Now I can pretend it never happened until about 2-3 days before school starts, at which time I will become depressed out of fear that I will be teaching and will suddenly faint. While wearing a skirt. And I'll surely land face-first on a sharp metal bookcase corner. All because of extreme distrust of doctors, plus being too cheap to pay the extra co-pays for the MRI/CAT, in-office labwork, separate gyn exam, and the routine-mammogram-starting-at-age-35 and who knows what else that it will be too awkward to refuse without running the risk of being recommended for a mental exam, which is yet another co-pay.
But that's August! Now it's July. I've always hated July, so no wonder this whole business happened on the eve of July 1st. Effing foreshadowing. July is summer, and I've always hated this season of heat and excessive, untempered sunshine, but I'm very into this new summer vacation part of my life, so suffice to say I'm feeling some conflict right now.
Part of me wants to run out and go see the Titanic artifact display at the Tropicana and buy a GPS unit (mounting grad school debt be damned) and geocache the heck out of this town. The other part of me wants to stay indoors and resolve to make detailed lesson plans but really pop Wild Oats' Oreo-knockoffs into my mouth and read Agatha Christie and the New Yorker and endlessly surf the channel guide. (Having TV again after all of these years isn't going to well. The noise disrupts me, and I keep turning it off, which makes me realize that I may be unreasonable when I keep telling the students to SHHHHHHH!)
I'll log back in tonight and let you know if I frittered away the day or if I actually got it together enough to wash my hair (another peeve -- maybe I will go get it cut so I don't have to stand there for ages in the shower, bored while rinsing and rinsing and rinsing) and do something with my life.
P.S. Does anyone else not play the eyelash game because you're afraid you'll pick the wrong finger?
P.P.S. I think I will sell my eyelash on eBay for people who need extra wish-making opportunities.
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