I Don't Think It Was the Book...
My shot went better today than the last. (I've moved my shot days from Mondays to Sundays. It gives me more time to freak out.) It went in cleanly, there was virtually no pain, but it took me literally somewhere between 20 and 30 minutes to inject. It took me so long, again poised there with my needle-clad hand above my naked thigh, my pants around my dangling ankles like a little kid, that I actually began to become "tired" of being so petrified. I suddenly wanted a nap and nearly took one afterward. I guess this still gives a fairly emotional punch. But I eventually did it, all is well, I didn't hit a nerve, and my leg didn't fall off. Score.
I've found a new doctor. The receptionists were really friendly and I only have to wait a month for him. Sadly, that available appointment is at, like, 8am in the morning and it's an hour trek, but ultimately I'm not complaining. Only have to wait a month? Pfft. I can do that in my sleep.
In related news, there's now been a response from Fenway regarding my original complaints. They get points for finally taking notice and apparently giving enough of a damn to do anything at all. (See how low my standards have become for them? You picked up the phone! Good for you!) I'm curious to see where they may lead. I don't plan to ever return to them. Ever. But hopefully future patients will benefit from my struggles. You're welcome.
We've been reading Freud's 3 essays on sexuality in my one course. Particularly on my longer treks, I seemed to be reading them while on transit. Now, for those of you who don't know, these essays are (in)famous for their discussions of sexuality, culturally-prohibited practices, and children. Inverts, penis envy, castration complexes, S&M, voyeurism, youth masturbating, breastfeeding as naturally erotic...you get the idea.
I seem to rarely run into the younger set while on transit. Don't know why. And yet, upon reading the first essay, a woman sat down next to me, holding a child young enough to not yet be able to talk. Rather, they just stare at whatever fascinates them. You know what I'm talking about. So there I sat, suddenly feeling incredibly awkward. And the child...stared at me: O_O. She wouldn't stop. Absolutely nothing else in the world could be more fascinating than me, her face a matter of inches from my own. I began to squirm; readjusting my weight, trying to casually block what I was reading from the other passengers, my eyes occasionally darting from the text to the child and back again. I eventually couldn't take it anymore and put my book down. Surely I could finish it next time.
Later returning to my homework and moving onto the second essay, not one, not two, but three different women came on with buggies, one after the other. Every time I thought I was reprieved, I was fooled. I think one of them had even been a twofer. These women would sit near me, the buggies facing them and, by association, me. And guess what happened.
Call in the third essay. I'd cast off my previous frustrations. This time I thought I'd had the world beat--quite smugly, I might add. It didn't take long for an entire class of what appeared to be kindergarteners flounced into my part of the tram. I was drowning in young two-leggers. By this point, I decided I'd just do this homework at, well, home. After a shower.
You can finally sleep soundly, world. My clementine bloodlust seems to be on its way out. Of course, I'll still attack one that gets near me, but I otherwise can get through a day at a moderate level of functioning without one.