I'm utterly exhausted. I'm going to see "Jay and Silent Bob" over at the student union tonight at 9. But let me thank AJ for calling me last night. I really needed that. It made me feel a lot better about the way things are.
And how are things you might ask?
Tiring. Very tiring. Also very stagnating but due to finals and the medication, there's very little I can do to remedy THAT right now. My 19th birthday is a month away...plus 13 days. Here's hoping more than 5 people remember that it's my birthday. The people that really cared called or wrote or sent me a frucard and I thank you again (nearly 12 months later). It's on a fucking Sunday though and I'm due on campus the next day. I think I've said this before. I hate it when I do that.
I have a photo of Jian and myself from early November. It's just resting on my desk, statically clinging to the computer. I can't put it back in its envelope yet, for some stupid ass reason. It's not even a good picture...of him. I'll have to get it scanned or something but
Anyway, yesterday was complete shit. I had an evaluation with the physical therapy center based off of Albany Med. I had to be there by 1:15 to fill out papers for 1:30. I called the taxi company at 12:30 and waited a half hour before getting sick enough and nearly crying out of frustration in the car of the nice lady from admissions who had the misfortune of going 20 miles out of the way. Now I know how to get there.
Went well. They pushed and prodded and watched me walk around the room examining my foot or whatever. Then I was told to place my foot in the big bucket of ice cold water so that they could place electrodes on my upper right calf and electrocute the large main vein. I sat there for 20 minutes feeling the pulsation that caused the ripples in the water. Turns out, the only difference between my right and left feet is the swelling...and my inability to rotate my foot out to the right as far as my left can to the left. Make no sense, eh? Ah well. It was interesting.
I proceeded to call a taxi and set up several appointments for the next two weeks. The taxi gets there and it's some old Puerto Rican guy whose response to my query as to whether or not he could stay so I could get something done was "For a beautiful woman like you, I'll do anything." Uhm...yeah. So he proceeds to stop at Dunkin Donuts for this highly creeped out but beautiful woman so that she could get herself some coffee that tastes chalkish and bagels that suck. Bastards I should have gone to a better non-ghettoed Dunkin Donut Shop.
I got back to the dorm in time to type up a summary for an assignment that was due an hour later. I get it done and feel accomplishment. When I finally get to class, I find out that I read the wrong chapter. I explain the problem to Holly, my cool foundations professor, who understands and suggests I hand it in on Tuesday and that it will be okay. The tears are welling up in my throat and so I ask to be excused. I walk out, covering my eyes until I get to the hallway where I just hold a hand up to my mouth so as not to expose everyone to my frustration. Once in the bathroom I head towards the big handicapped stall, figuring that I could still qualify, and then proceed to cry. No. Not cry. I bawled.
It just kept coming. Everytime I thought I was finished, my eyes welled up and it came through again. Frustration. Frustration and anxiety over my life revolving around a cycle of doctors appointments and physicians questioning what the hell is wrong with me. "Your doctors tell you work it through, smooth it out, feel your pain, let it out, they never let you learn how to crawl." It just never stopped. I was there for twenty minutes, clutching onto toilet paper and stopping only when another person entered the room.
I hate it when other people see me cry. So when they do, I try to belittle it and make a joke so that they don't take it seriously or think I'm weak, though all the while it's evident to me that I'm feeling what I think they're thinking of ME.
Bastard tears. I got it together enough to go back to class where I snapped at people and made comments underneath my breath. Afterwards, I returned to my dorm and just cried silently while my guests spoke of growing to be 200 years old and "getting that fifth damn hip replacement."
The night did get better. I spoke with my parents and was happy to watch "Merry Christmas, Charlie Brown."
It's hectic here. I wish I could be without assignments to write for a while. That would be lovely.
