Standing in Disarray

I got up early.

Around 6:15am and just sat there staring at the clock on the microwave. I watched as it ticked, one minute after the other, slowly, like watching molasses run on a Winter's day. It ticked along until 6:30am where I slid from the bed and turned on my laptop, booting up and into the Internet. My real home. I made coffee. That Cafe Bustelo shit, extra strong, to get the juices flowing. I popped my over a dozen pills. Got cleaned up and dressed. I was standing tall in the center of the room by 8:30.

I packed my gear and headed out into a surprisingly beautiful day. March was going out as mild as a lamb. I left later, so that I missed the rush hour jam and arrived at Doctor A's office just a little past Nine O'clock. The day was moving smoothly. All news was good except that I PUT ON SEVEN POUNDS!!

FUCK!!

Those goddamned pies. Too many snacks filling up my diet. I need to get off them and just stick to the basics. Breakfast, lunch and dinner, the staples, and the rest will fall in line. No wonder my clothes weren't feeling looser. I was in free fall. Sonuvabitch. I saw it on my food log too. It was filled in with red notations where I went over my caloric limit. Too many. It was time to get back on the stick if I wanted to make it to my destination weight by the summer. The Doc was in my corner. That and another round of blood tests to check my overall kidney functions, and uric acid levels.

I skipped out and went to Madison Starbucks, and on my way there I made an observation about my great city. With the slightest change in the weather, everyone ditches their coats and runs around with as little clothing as they can get away with. Especially the women. They pare down their clothing to the bare minimum. The fucking legal limit. And it's not even hot out, it's just a little warm. Can someone say: Erect Nipples?

Once in Madison Starbucks, I run into my brother, back from South Carolina and Electra. For Electra, I had her hard drive, carefully removed from her laptop and in pristine condition. I handed it over and wished her well with it. Then I caught up with my brother on shit. Soon it was time to split for my therapists.

"And they caught you with the bottle?" Dr L asked incred- ulously. "They walked in just when you started drinking it?" Yep. Walked right in and caught me, I said, but that's alright. I went out and got a bottle of wine right afterward. "You went out and got another bottle?" Yep. She chuckles. "Well, did anything in you NOT want that bottle?" Nope. "You had to plan that one to get it past the administrators a second time, no?" Yep. "Did you plan to drink at the Wyoming?" Yep. "So these are conscious decisions?" Yep. She nods.

Yeah, I know where this is going again. It always does. She knows the pattern by now. Just like my diet, I fall off, I get back up. I fall off, I get back up. I'm a human roller coaster ride. The difference is that I'm on more than off. I win by the law of averages. "Toxicology," she says. Yeah. I give her piss.

I go to my second therapist. Dr. W. She's the new one after Nurse G. retired. This is my second meeting with Dr. W. and I'm there on time, because I'M IN THE FUCKING BUILDING. I go to this fucking receptionist, who checks me in and tells me to have a seat. But I come to later find out that she DOESN'T CALL DR. W! Now, not that I knew it then, but while I'm sitting in the waiting room, which is rather large, for an hour, this dumb shit of a receptionist is relieved and heads off to stupid-land. I'm sitting there and out pops Dr. W. Coat on, bag slung across her shoulder. She walks right by me, hops in the elevator, says goodnight to everyone in the waiting room, and is gone.

What the Fuck?

I get up and walk over to Nattie, the scheduler, and tell her that my doctor just walked out the door. Nattie gets up and walks to the front desk to find another receptionist there that obviously doesn't know anything, and they conclude that the asshat that was there before didn't call the doctor to let her know that I was there. So I had to wait, another hour, to be seen by another doctor, to get my prescription for my meds, and then to leave. I was pissed. You could have fried an entire MacDonalds Happy Meal on my head.

I was so glad to get the fuck out of there. I went on to Madison Avenue Starbucks to spend the rest of my day. My brother showed and so did Electra, and we stayed until closing. I was still hot over the stupid two hours spent just waiting for a doctor. And Dr. W. being so slow as not to recognize me as she casually strolled off the floor. Shit.

I got home, but only after stopping at Subway for a Italian Hero Sandwich. Yeah, gaining seven pounds made me depressed enough to gain seven more. What the fuck. Well, I have to step back to move forward, right. I got my books in the mail today. RESTING THE CHEMISTRY and AND GOD BLEW BREATH. I held them in my hand and there is nothing like it. I'm on top of the world suddenly. Being down in the dumps doesn't mean being depressed. I've got my books of poetry published.

I'm feeling good. I still eat that fucking hero sandwich though.

Hobobob