October 2, 2001
Orangey
I'm tired of talking about it, so I'm not talking about it. Let it just be said that today is my anniversary, and I am not suprised to be spending it alone. To almost certainly be the only one to remember it.
I spent two hours at the doctor today because of my psycho, militant, mutiny-inclined body. And be it gross, faux pas, not school appropriate; may I just say that peeing in a cup is the most awkward and disgusting thing I've ever had to do?
Honestly. This, to me, is just a hysterical situation. I mean, how much urine do they want? They never say. And I can just imagine other people in there measuring, dumping some out, cursing about getting it on their hands. Let's just say I'm a sick, sick girl.
And then the fact that I barely dealt with the doctor. He came in, looked at me, stethoscoped me, gave me a prescription and left.
And guess what? I get medicine that makes me pee orange. So you can just kiss me, frisk me, and call me a chemical imbalance.
astera at aggravation