Shoes, Ships, and Sealing Wax

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I didn't see a doctor, I saw a physician's assistant. That's fine. My favorite medical practioner ever was a nurse practitioner, and some of the worst I've had are MDs. It was just disconcerting that this PA looked to be in middle school. I mean, I know as I grow older, the frequency with which my health care professionals are younger than I am will increase. I just like them to look of legal voting age.

She gave me a wrist brace which I already don't like...it makes my thumb stick out and it is already sore, and the referred pain in my shoulder seems worse in the last, what, hour I've had it on. I think I'll self-treat with the exercises Victor's orthopedist gave him.

I go in tomorrow for a fasting blood test, but I got the definite impression that I don't meet all the anemia symptoms and she thinks my fatigue is the usual stress & livestyle. It may be, I guess, which means I need to get my ass out of bed and do some exercise no matter how crappy I feel. And maybe some mental discipline will conquer the lack of concentration.

Hey, I want a pill. Better living through chemistry.

Actually I don't want a pill. I'd rather not take anything (subject for long essay on chemicals I don't have the energy or concentration to write--but I'm not anti-chemical. Or pro-"natural." Or vice-versa.) I just wanna feel better.

Some little blonde chickie ran a red light and damn near broadsided me on my way home. That little burst of adreneline felt good, but it went away quick and I'm beat again...