blood and quacks

Note: am on a fair bit of Tylenol here.

My hands finally gave up. My ankles decided to resign in solidarity. When my fingers stopped being able to curl, my toes threw it in, too. Then I came down with a fever and my spine lit up like a cylon. Finally I fell off the couch while trying to stand up, and I said, ferfucksake, that's it. I'm calling a doctor. Except nobody has seen my doctor, including other doctors. Once I got through the barricade of answering machines and receptionists wielding hold buttons, I was given an appointment with a nurse. Nope. I love nurses, but this is the same doctor I was never able to see 6 years ago, and I've already got doormat issues. So we found a new doctor. One who signs his name in the shape of a duck. He asked who my previous doctor was and said, "Were you able to get past reception? Did they give you a nurse? I don't even see him at meetings." I like this guy so far.

The vampires drew my blood, and now it's all waiting. And I am writing it down this time, because when my doctor asked, "Have you had any tests done for your joints before?" all I could remember was that I posted a House meme about 4 years ago. This is terrible health management.

Guess what I am getting tested for again?

In other news

I found a new band I like.

Everyone ditched us for dance class, and the boy and I hung out and watched talking dogs on the internet.

My mom brought home another bird. Its hideous visage is balanced by the tragedy of its story; trimmers cut its nest from a tree, and school kids found it among the bodies of its dead nest mates. Poor cute little ugly babby pigeon.

Well, that's a bummer. Quick, a talking dog!