My day off? Oh, lovely, thanks for asking! Brief. Oh so brief. But lovely as hell.
Much of it was spent at Dr. Ernie’s office. Because – hey, guess what? MY EFFING UTERUS IS STILL TRYING TO KILL ME. I know, how long has this nonsense been going on? Forever, you say? That’s right. It has. You’re right.
So I called the doctor’s office and I was all, hey, let’s do something about the constant and perpetual pain I’m in, what do you say? And they talked to me in one of those calming and soothing voices they use for people who are holding a small puppy or child hostage with a flare gun. “Oh, you’re in pain? And your blood pressure is up? And you’re retaining water? And you’re shaky? And you’re headachy? Hmm. I wonder what could be causing THOSE issues?” THE EFFING PROCEDURE YOU DID IN FEBRUARY. Listen, I’m not sciency, but I’m smart enough to do research when I’m dying. EVERY ONE OF THESE THINGS ARE ON THE SIDE EFFECTS LIST DOC.
Also, don’t you think a doctor should be MORE NERVOUS that someone who’s always had low (to the point of it being a worry) blood pressure has – just in the past two months – developed high blood pressure, to the point of constant nosebleeds? Especially when it says, right on list of side effects, IF THIS HAPPENS CONTACT YOUR DOCTOR IMMEDIATELY? (What the subtext of that is, is “you’re about to keel over dead from the same kind of stroke that killed your gramma. DON’T DILLY-DALLY, FOR THE LOVE OF PETE.”)
So I went in today, and, apparently, the doctor’s office today was purgatory, what with the waiting. I had to wait twenty minutes for an appointment; I had to wait ten once I got in the room (again with my pants off – that place is aces about making you wait around pantsless, I swear), then, once the procedure was reversed (THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU) I had to wait ten more minutes for her to go get me a prescription for some medication that may or may not make my murderous uterus stop acting like an evil assassin. YOU ARE PART OF MY BODY, UTERUS. LET’S START WORKING AS A TEAM HERE.
Also, the doctor I saw today (who was NOT Dr. Ernie – I’m pretty sure he’s never there, because I never get to see him) told me that I had THREE MORE YEARS to have a baby. Well! It’s nice that there’s a timeline on that. I’d better get cracking. I guess after that, I’m done. Step one: decide if I actually *want* to have a baby. Step two: find someone I don’t hate to have that baby with, if I do, indeed, decide that passing these genes along isn’t the worst idea ever. Step three: laugh hysterically at the idea that the uterus that’s been trying to kill me since I was 14 would even THINK of carrying a child to term. Yeah. I think this is a plan already doomed to failure, you know?
But it’s nice to know that I have about 3 years to decide on such a thing, you know? So nice. I love that I have an expiration date. Like cheese! Or milk.
Oh, and, just as a side note, this totally means I can no longer have ALL THE SEX. I know. It’s a total disappointment to all of those men I’ve been having all the sex with. Excuse me while I laugh myself into a hernia. The doctor was all, “You are aware you’ll have to use an alternate form of birth control now, correct?” and I was like, “Um…even if I’m not, you know, sexually active? Like, should I preventatively buy all the condoms? I’m totally going to Target later, I’m sure they have a pretty condom display, EVERYTHING IS NICE THERE” and she said, “Oh, well, no, then.” Oh, also she called using condoms “the barrier method” which made me laugh and think of those people who sleep with a board between them. That’s totally a barrier method, too. Only a more literal one.
So I’d warn you against the procedure I had and go into detail that you probably don’t want but I’m pretty sure it works for everyone else in the world and just not me and my assassiny internal organs. So I won’t elaborate. YOU’RE WELCOME.
Then I thought, should I go look into new glasses? Then I realized, I didn’t have enough money to do that AND buy all the awesome things at the flea market. So, no new glasses in time for vacation. Which means, a million asshole photos of me with these STUPID TRANSITIONS LENSES from vacation. Grumble. But, next month. Yes yes yes. New glasses then.
Then I thought, there are TWO MOVIES PLAYING that I want to see. And I NEVER want to see movies! I should treat myself to a movie! (In case you’re wondering, I have TOTALLY HIGHBROW TASTES, and the two movies I want to see are Cabin in the Woods and The Hunger Games.) Then I thought, nah, first run over to Target and get some things and then decide.
LISTEN. Me at Target = INSANITY. I can’t get SOME things. I get ALL THE THINGS. First I say, “I need toys because I’m seeing The Nephew today and I want to win aunting. Then I want some antacid, because tax season made me run out. Then I want some toilet paper. THAT IS ALL I WANT.” Then I get to Target, and it’s so PRETTY! And so CLEAN! And I want ALL THE THINGS!
So I got food, and shower curtain hooks because I realized when I was there I’d broken two shower curtain rings and so I was dealing with two places my shower curtain was held up with hair ties (DON’T YOU EVEN JUDGE ME I AM POOR and listen, hair ties? That was an AWESOME and SMART workaround. I should have my own show on like the DIY network or something) and the shower curtain hooks were on CLEARANCE BA-BOOM BABY plus also they are the COOLEST and then I saw all these journals and I thought, you know how you are always having the most brilliant ideas when you are out and about but never any paper? BUY A DAMN JOURNAL YOU ARE A WRITER NOW so I did and then also cat food. Oh, and the stuff I came in for, of course. The Nephew got the best toys. I WANTED to get him this awesome car detailing kit where with LIGHT you could paint DETAILS onto TOY CARS but it was for ages 5 and up and he is not five or up. Well, intelligence-wise he is, let’s not get crazy. Also, the parts looked really small. What if he choked? I don’t want to be party to that. No no no.
Then I was too tired to go to the movies and I thought, I have a lot of writing I want to be doing, and also laundry, let’s go home.
I know. I’m really the most fancy on my day off, right?
THEN THEN THEN it was The Nephew time. The Nephew, his mom and I had dinner at a restaurant. The Nephew was QUITE WELL BEHAVED. I know! He’s really the best. I mean, a couple times he did toddler-style things, such as yelling or spitting an entire mouthful of food into his lap (and, when questioned why, he answered, in a very adult, rational tone, “I didn’t like that food,” and I tried SO HARD not to laugh, but it was in this little “I’ve completely rationalized this, Mumsy, and what ELSE would one have me do with this food that I am not enjoying? I mean, I couldn’t quite SWALLOW it, now could I?”) Then after dinner, it was PRESENT TIME, which I totally won. Apparently, he is VERY INTO the EXACT TYPE of cars I purchased, as evidenced by the Facebook photo of him playing with them in the dirt his mom posted about an hour after we parted. I win gifts. Well, except for the Playdoh. That was not a win, only because my mom bought him the same kit recently. But, hell, he can pull the Playdoh part of it out and play with that. No kid has ever had TOO MUCH Playdoh, now have they?
Also, he gave me a hug AND a kiss AND told me he loved me AND pretended to cut all of my fingers off with Big Bird scissors and laughed adorably when I told him I could never play the piano again and pretended to weep.
Three months until I see him again. Not that I’m counting down the days, or anything. No no not me.
OK, my delicious kiwifruits. I’m off to do a million things before conking out for a little sleep. Then it’s back to work for me tomorrow. The people of the Capital Region are NOT going to answer their OWN phones tomorrow, now ARE they?
Hope you’re having the happiest weekend of all the happy. Love your faces.