At the risk of sounding like a complete nut-job, I’m going to tell you a secret. And by secret, I mean something my husband recently yelled at my from the dry side of the shower door on the morning of my son’s first birthday. *YOU NEED SOME FUCKING HELP!
And no, not you. Me. Well. Probably you, too but this is my blog. Not So-s0 Tammy’s or So-so Brumhilda’s. You clicked here to read about me and today we’re going to talk about me and my problems so just suck it up and read or go HERE instead and see some disturbingly hilarious photos of a domestic dispute and laugh till you pee.
But stay, because I’m having problems and you leaving right now is just making them worse.
I made a doctor’s appointment. One with the physician I’ve only ever seen twice and fifty percent of those two times I cried. The first time I was pregnant, so there’s my excuse. She was all quiet and nodding and smiling and trying to be supportive, so I just carried on about hormones and “i’m sorry, i’m so emo right now” and she nodded because she has a daughter “emo age” and I tried to laugh but snot bubbles came out. Long story short, I was fine and no medicine or straight jacket necessary. Phew.
Next was a sinus infection. No tears. Double the snot. Antibiotics. Woot.
So. I just scheduled my third appointment for Thursday. Why? What are my symptoms? I can’t really say. Maybe it’s nothing. Maybe it’s something. I just want to know if I should be crying every day or if maybe that’s not normal. And the yelling? And maybe do something about the filthy words that come out of my mouth every time I drop a something or stub a toe or what have you.
Fucka-duck, doll’s balls, shitburgers et friggin al. Just because I’m adding PG words into the mix and rhyming my expletives with children’s play things doesn’t make it okay.
JG’s been encouraging me to see someone about my “issues”. I made the call. I didn’t know where to start, so I just dialed Dr. Quiet to avoid starting over with someone new who hasn’t seen my cry at all.
Reception: Doctor Quiet’s office
Me: Hi. I need to see Dr. Quiet.
Reception: Okay. What’s your name?
Me: Stephanie Meade Gresham (don’t Google me)
Reception: Okay. Is there anything specific you’re seeing the doctor for?
Me: Don’t end a sentence with a preposition.
Reception: Excuse me?
Me: I might be going crazy.
Reception: Um. Do you need a physical?
Reception: Okay. Anything else?
Me: Yes. At three o’clock every day I cry. And people say I am being mean a lot. What the shit is that all about, right?
Reception: Anxiety sound good?
Me: No. It sounds perfectly horrible.
Reception: I mean, that’s what I’ll put you down for.
Me: Do you not know what a preposition is? And where it’s not supposed to be?
Reception: Let’s go with Anxiety. Thursday at 9:15, mmmkay? We’ll see you then.
Cross your fingers for me. There’s only one thing that makes me cry more than my usual daily fit of tears and that’s talking about my usual daily fit of tears. Dr. Quiet is in for a treat.
*On the wet side, there might have been tears, moaning, and head banging on the shower wall. I was stressed. And can’t a girl shower ALONE anymore???