WARNING: This blog comes from my iphone so there will be zero pictures.
Did I just hear a collective sigh throughout the entire country?
No, I didn't did I?
Damn.
But a fella can dream.
Anyhoo ...
Airport bars.
There's a certain charm to these places. Maybe it's due to the fact that all the persons frequenting such an establishment are always either coming or going but its appeal is that there's not that "desperate vibe", the vibe you often see/feel/taste in a night club or local bar on your corner street.
And I'm drinking an obscenely-large Stella Artois while awaiting a friends plane to arrive.
So I thought it my solemn duty to bring the lacking desperation.
Okay, that might be too strong a word.
How about we utilize, "angsty prickly-ness"?
It's two words, true, but it's more apropos to my given mindset.
I like the way I am socially when I have a drink but I dislike the way I explore/dissect my own feelings and psyche.
When I quit drinking for a year and a half I seemed to be a bit less agoraphobic. This statement makes no sense logically but I find it totally, utterly and popcornallytrue.
Mm, popped corn.
Mm, Pop-tarts.
Mm, apparently I need food.
I ate four muffins yesterday. This is not a braggarts statement or a perverse type of innuendo, it's me telling you that I disregarded my gallbladder diet and chowed down on some delicious processed sugar and fat.
Speaking of fat, I had a morbidly obese patient today that was one of the most jovial, pleasant people I've ever met.
Alas, the big guy was missing part of his tibia from some odd wasting disease that my doc was afraid was cancer.
A 650-pound man will not fit into a normal MRI machine.
So we had to make calls to equine clinics and Busch Gardens animal hospital to see if they could provide the MRI.
They could not, it was not zoned for humans.
I sat in the bathroom and cried, silently, fueled by an unexplainablerage that I haven't touched upon in ages.
And as luck would have it? We were totally out of all options and finally called in a last ditch favor to a specialized doc and he managed to persuade the MRI.
It ended up being a genetic issue and not cancer.
I'm drinking a beer to and for Charles.
That's all.
More tomorrow.
Eye<3ewe,
Scotty
Did I just hear a collective sigh throughout the entire country?
No, I didn't did I?
Damn.
But a fella can dream.
Anyhoo ...
Airport bars.
There's a certain charm to these places. Maybe it's due to the fact that all the persons frequenting such an establishment are always either coming or going but its appeal is that there's not that "desperate vibe", the vibe you often see/feel/taste in a night club or local bar on your corner street.
And I'm drinking an obscenely-large Stella Artois while awaiting a friends plane to arrive.
So I thought it my solemn duty to bring the lacking desperation.
Okay, that might be too strong a word.
How about we utilize, "angsty prickly-ness"?
It's two words, true, but it's more apropos to my given mindset.
I like the way I am socially when I have a drink but I dislike the way I explore/dissect my own feelings and psyche.
When I quit drinking for a year and a half I seemed to be a bit less agoraphobic. This statement makes no sense logically but I find it totally, utterly and popcornallytrue.
Mm, popped corn.
Mm, Pop-tarts.
Mm, apparently I need food.
I ate four muffins yesterday. This is not a braggarts statement or a perverse type of innuendo, it's me telling you that I disregarded my gallbladder diet and chowed down on some delicious processed sugar and fat.
Speaking of fat, I had a morbidly obese patient today that was one of the most jovial, pleasant people I've ever met.
Alas, the big guy was missing part of his tibia from some odd wasting disease that my doc was afraid was cancer.
A 650-pound man will not fit into a normal MRI machine.
So we had to make calls to equine clinics and Busch Gardens animal hospital to see if they could provide the MRI.
They could not, it was not zoned for humans.
I sat in the bathroom and cried, silently, fueled by an unexplainablerage that I haven't touched upon in ages.
And as luck would have it? We were totally out of all options and finally called in a last ditch favor to a specialized doc and he managed to persuade the MRI.
It ended up being a genetic issue and not cancer.
I'm drinking a beer to and for Charles.
That's all.
More tomorrow.
Eye<3ewe,
Scotty
VIEW 6 of 6 COMMENTS
You're a way good dude. Also, I love your picture-blogs, but your non-picture blogs don't lack an ounce. You won't hear any whining from this gal.
ALSOOOOO. It's been brought to my attention that the hedgie was jerkin' it. Why'd you let me play with it, uggghhhh. :/
Nothing like the feeling of shuffling around the chess pieces of the social services/medical services field successfully, hey. Some patients/clients move you just so.