okay, okay. you can stop fucking with me now.

you know, it’s bad enough i am dealing with ITP and a possible diagnosis of common variable immunodeficiency. but now, this?

yesterday, i got the little sheet i always get from my annual mammogram. you know, the sheet that tells you that all is well and see-ya-in-a-year? well, mine didn’t say that yesterday. mine says that they need to take more pictures of my boobs. they don’t say why. and now, thanks to my persistence, at least i can get in next week, though i have to hike out to sterling to get that done.

and no one in the office can tell me why. is it because they messed up somehow? is it because something is wrong? nope. sorry. can’t tell you anything until you are here. shit. if they’d let me, i would ride my ass out to their office just so someone could tell me in person what’s wrong. but no, that’s not an option.

my mother has lost both breasts to breast cancer. that is why this is something that sends off red flags, and rockets, and neutron bombs in my head. this is the stuff that psychosis is made of.

so today, as i received my pneumovax innoculation from my doctor, i asked him: “what the hell is wrong with me? why does all this shit happen to me? did i do something bad in another life?” he could only sympathize and put a bandaid on my shot site.

i’m just so tired.

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