Jim's quiet musings . . .

Okay, I've been sick. No, REALLY sick. Yucky sick. Been out of work since Monday. I had to go to the doctors office today because if you are out longer than two days, you need a note for work. Well, it was like this:

Day 1: Humm. I don't feel that hot. Should I go in? Hummm. (Create mental image of Jeeem pondering) .....hummmm. NAW!

Day 2: Whoa Nelly! I feel like crap! (Gag, gag, gag, -spit- *cough*- I'll spare you the sound of diarrhea.) Holy cripes, I think my KARMA got me cause I called in Monday.

Day 3: Oh my God. I have to go to the doctors. I don't want to get out of bed. I don't want to wake up. I don't want to move.

Day 4: Pending

Day 5: Pending

So, I go to the doctors. It's only ten minutes away, but I haven't left the house in two days. I drive, but it's like surreal. It's like I'm driving and all but like I'm sitting above it all looking down watching myself. Things move slower and everything seems just really unreal and happening way too fast for me. I get there and immediately feel like I just used every ounce of energy I owned to drive there. They make me stand in front of the little sliding window and wait. They ask me the same stupid questions they always ask me. I want to sit down. Hell, I want to LAY DOWN. Please, please stop asking me questions and just let me collapse somewhere.

Finally, the barrage of stupid questions stops and I collapse in the chair. I am splayed out. I don't care. My mouth is open. I don't care. I have trouble moving my arm up to scratch my face. I just let it itch.

"Jim?" the very large lady crammed into the very small white uniform says.

I walk to the voice. She wants to weigh me. I have to steady myself when I stand upon the scale. I am sure she will be shocked to find I have lost about 90 pounds.

She points out that I have gained weight since my last visit. I hate her.

We go into an examining room. The large lady takes my vital signs and takes way too long doing it. I collapse on the female exam table that crinkles every time you move on top of the big toilet paper roll. My legs dangle off the table at the knees. I fall asleep and I'm dreaming of a nest of birds fighting on the eave of my porch.

The nurse practitioner comes in.

The doctors just do the important stuff nowadays. The nurse practitioner is nice, but lectures me WAY too long on the dangers of dehydration, hypovolemia and hypokalemia. I am a registered nurse but they don't know that. Registered nurses are not EXEMPT from poor nutrition and poor diet.

I get my excuse slip. I stumble out the door. I drive home in a dream.

Later, I muster up the energy to scrape my research paper crap into my bookbag and drive to school. Crazy you say? Well, being that if I miss class I can get dropped because I've already missed my ONE class I could miss, I DON"T THINK SO! So, bookbag in hand, I stumble out the door and attempt the much longer ride to college, about forty-five minutes away.

The drive sucks.

Our "class" is now only four people. All others have dropped. This class has a reputation for being the hardest class at the college.....even above statistics. I find I am not doing so bad. I'm bitchy though. I am asking questions and getting clarifications when one of my "younger" classmates says,

"You are making me confused," in relation to the questions I am asking and the terminology I am using.

"No, I am not MAKING you ANYTHING, you are doing that ALL BY YOURSELF," I say, slipping into my counselor mode.

"You are right. You are not making me do anything," she says, cringing.

Then I felt a little guilty for snapping like that. I wanted to say, "I am sick and bitchy. Don't mess with me. Just let me ask my questions and get out of here." I end up not apologizing to her and you know what? ..........I DON'T CARE!

This girl is one of THOSE. She's sweet really, but nervous as a cat on a hot tin roof, worries about everything and jittery as hell. I'd classify her 309.24 Adjustment Disorder with Anxious Mood and prescribe her a good smack of Xanax, about 0.5 mg four times a day. That ought to do the trick.

I managed to get out of that class tonight and actually feel pretty good about how my research project is going. I even got to discuss my new idea for a degree plan. I am planning on looking into a graduate program for writers or customizing a literature degree plan after I obtain my bachelors in behavioral science. I'm psyched, even though I am sick. I am just one of those individuals who never found out what he wants to do when he grows up. Oh well........somebody diagnose me...PLEASE!

Shit! I missed South Park.

-Jeeem-