Dear Diary,

I think I'm going to start doing away with the "Dear Diary" posts because they feel much too formal and contrived to me now. It didn't start out that way, but things just evolved and you know, whatever.

So today I went to the doctor and found out I have another stone lurking in one of my kidneys just waiting to cause me much pain and tribulation. Luckily, I still have some ultra strong pain medicine from my last one that I'm going to take with me EVERYWHERE from now on.

Before I went in for yet another CT scan, they made me sit in a little room all by myself for a while. It kinda felt like time out. I started wondering what I had done wrong to deserve it, then I started noticing this mirror they had on the wall which was also a mini shelf with a really loopy metal frame. I just started staring at the little loops, finding shapes like hands and people in them. Just before I went insane, they called me to sit down the hall... to wait.

So I'm sitting there with my gigantic purse bag stuffed with papers that I [still] need to grade, but I don't take them out because I know the law of hospitals. The instant I take out something interesting to work on, they will call me to go to a tiny room, take my clothes off, and change into a flimsy gown so they can take pictures of my insides. So I just sat there and played with the metal bead work and tassels on my purse bag. A purse bag is not to be confused with a man bag. Because a purse bag IS a purse. K.

So I'm sitting there and I get so bored that the nurses who pass by feel sorry for me, and they're so tired that they start talking to themselves. So they end up aiming their self-talk towards me and I smile and nod patiently. Because I'm a patient. At one point, I overheard the woman who was supposed to be testing me have a highly entertaining phone conversation with a woman who needed to take castor oil to... I'm still not sure what for, but I do know that she only took it three hours prior and was upset that she didn't feel the effects. The nurse promptly recommended fluids, faith in castor oil, and promised that the woman would be tap dancing in the morning.

I don't know who this castor oil god is, but if faith in him requires tap dancing, I'd rather go find somebody else because that sounds like too much work. I have a friend that tap dances. She says her teacher likes choreography with lots of hops, but she doesn't like doing lots of hops because there are three sections of her that come up and down all at different times when she hops.

I know, I know. The visual. You're welcome.

So I'm STILL waiting there, and this nurse comes by and deposits one of her patient's things on the chair next to me because he had left them behind. I recognized the up-dated desert camoflouge jacket and reasoned that it must be a soldier. Eventually, he came back for his articles, with a single crutch and a really heavy latin accent. Not Latin as in the dead language, but Latin as in the stupid name we Americans along with most of the English speaking world affix to anything Hispanic, even though French, Italian, and Portuguese were also all inspired by the Latin of the Roman Empire. Ugh!!!!!!!

Ok. So I heard that he was Hispanic, and he started talking about how he had fought in desert storm the first go round, how they liked to put a lot of Puerto Ricans out there because they are used to the heat. Then I couldn't contain myself. I rudely interrupted in Spanish and asked where in P.R. he's from. He and the nurse both seemed surprised, and after a short banter in Spanish, he continued what he was saying to the nurse. Before they left, though, he tapped me on the arm and said, "Cuidate, Mama" which literally means "Take care of yourself, mother" but the mother is kind of like the words 'girly, chic, babe, etc.' in English, used in the slang, whatever, kind of way. But it got my wheels turning again. I'm not a mother...

I have no earthly idea why I'm so talkative. Um, so typative today. Maybe it's because I don't want to do my BSF homework and I definitely do NOT want to grade. *Sigh*

Dear Diary,

I have been tagged by ManU.... or however you do the umlaut thingy here.... yeah.

Ok. So random. Thinking random....


Six Random Things About Me:

1. I was sliced out of my mother's womb after she had been airlifted to the hospital with pneumonia. No wonder I had the hiccups when I was born.
2. I've lived in 7 different homes in the same city in the past 9 years, and, no, I am not on the run from the law. I've also gone to 7 different churches in the same city, too.
3. I like things that start with the letter P [in English].
4. I paint when I'm extremely upset. It helps me work through things with my hands. Sometimes I write, type, or play piano as well. When I get really depressed, though, all the music stops playing in my head, and it creeps me out.
5. I met Placido Domingo when I was ten years old, and that was pretty cool. I have his autograph and all.
6. I used to go to church with Richard Gere's cousin.

Tag, You're It!

• jourANAL (journal)
• Jigsaw's Lair
• Household Tips, Tricks, & Hints
• The Far Queue
• maryanne stahl at her mac
• keanxy blogging