Ok, can I be the only person in America who thinks that a doctor ought to call immediately with the results of a cat scan? When it’s done on someone’s head? This is the third day, and while I can overlook Saturday evening.
Surely there was a spare five minutes yesterday to call and say “there ain’t nothing wrong with you that a good butt whoopin’ won’t fix” or “you need to come into the office so we can discuss this”. Seriously, wth, yk?
And in other news: knitting, reading, beading, worrying. That is all. Tomorrow night, music practice: my own version of term life insurance, because is allows me to forget for two or three hours what my life is really like just now. Not that I am bitter. Or confused. Or angry. Or even ready for the doctor to call already, and deliver his sentence, which will also be mine.