I’m sitting in the VA lab because I need some blood work done. They’re serving 104 right now; I’m 196. I’ll have to go to my appointment before I get my blood drawn because the lab folks won’t get to me in time. It wouldn’t be a big deal except that it’s one of those “fasting” deals and I’m about to die without a cup of coffee. Only got, like, four hours of sleep, when I usually get at least ten.
Some old codger sitting next to me wanted to know which service I was in and during which period did I serve, and am I a combat veteran. Obviously sees a healthy, youngish woman and wonders what the hell her business is here. He was a Vietnam-era vet, although he said he didn’t go overseas, so I would expect that attitude from someone his age. But hell, around here it doesn’t really matter how old the guy is. They see a prima-donna who’s taking up benefits entitled to someone else. I was polite to this guy and told him I’m on disability, but didn’t say for what. I think I was more than generous.
I mean, if I’d said I’m on disability for depression, he’d just scoff that off as someone sponging off the government. He wouldn’t understand, nor would he care, how hellish my marine corps experience was.
Anyway, luckily, his number was called so I didn’t have to put up with him for too long.
Later today I’ve got the dreaded English class with that nutty professor. Well, only two more to go. I’m interested in seeing my grade in there: I only submitted one story (that read like “how I spent my summer vacation” according to him), I hardly participated in class discussion, and my attendance was poor. But I don’t care, I have no respect for that flake.
Creative writing—bah! What was I thinking? I’ve taken two CW classes and that’s all I’m allowed under the English lit curriculum. And that is so cool with me it isn't even funny.
There’s cat hair all over my laptop. Newman sprawls over the keyboard when I’m trying to do stuff because it’s nice and warm. Actually, it gets quite hot. I wrote a blog entry yesterday but wound up losing it, which really pissed me off. Should know to write it in Werrrd first.
Later
While waiting for my doctor to call me, I fell sound asleep in my chair. Didn't hear them call me or anything. The guy next to me woke me up and the whole room got a good chuckle out of it while I wobbled in a daze to my appointment. Extreme fatigue is as good as being drunk except without the fun.
Monday, April 24, 2006
Notice: Some X- and R-rated content and links are present. If you possess delicate sensibilities or are under 18, I suggest you depart immediately. Or not, but don't say I didn't warn you. May also contain mundane and prosaic entries. Read at your own risk.
About Me
- Name: Newpeep, N.D. (neurotic depressive)
- Location: United States
Whateya need to know about me? Hmmm, I'm not clever enough to summarize myself concisely. Guess I'm underdeveloped, a late bloomer. Still trying to find my way in the world. I've already found my way *into* the world, which I suppose is a step in the right direction ... isn't it?
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