There Must Be Something Wrong With the Water

So, even though we are still hopeful today, it appears as if Michael has just been diagnosed with MS after a bout of dizziness and numbness. Dr. Bhatia (the same doctor who treated me) is really prone to talking in circles. Not that I'm a straight talker, but ...

We're all a little confused, now. I may be taking it even harder than Michael -- because I'm taking it personally. Michael wasn't alone when the doctor came in today -- he had me and my Dad there. He got a ride home from the hospital when he was discharged -- from family, that is. He gets to sit on Mom's bed and tell her all about it. Okay, I'm bitter. I admit it. It's not healthy, but ... motherfucker! I kind of don't feel like I got any real attention -- I felt like Mom and Dad thought I was faking it every time I had a little relapse -- right up until they found out about Michael which, coincidentally, was about the same time as I took a big fall (I was dizzy & weak-legged for a moment -- which happens a lot right now) right in front of my cousins.

Did I mention that I really don't like my cousins? Well, that's not quite true. I like Nancy-Sara and Michael. I like Cherylandra, her husband and their daughter. I kind-of like Eric, but there's just something I can't put my finger on that weirds me out. His wife is okay, too. But I really could do without ever seeing either Julia or James ever again. I ducked out of the festivities claiming a headache -- reality: yeah. My head hurt like a son-of-a-bitch from slamming it on Doug's fireplace when I fell. But ... I really just wanted to be at home with my dog -- alone and in quietude.

And I should have been writing my Shakespeare paper that is due on Monday. That, however, is the big procrastination project of this term. I'll get it done. And here it is in writing: I am not going for a PhD. I'm tired. I want a job. I'm sick of homework. I'm sick of writing papers. I'm sick of preparing for classes only to be bored to tears for 2 1/2 hours. Okay ... I'm sick, sick, sick of being a student. I'm ready to move the fuck on. And, here's the big one, I don't care if I get straight "B's" this term. (I probably will get one or two, but I really don't care).

I'm not really in a very good mood. I'm going to take my dog out and smoke for a few minutes and then get back to work on my paper. I have the intro and conclusion done with a vague outline for the body stuff. I've written my works cited (which I will make into a "works consulted" with the stuff I don't actually use). I've reviewed the research. I've color coded and sorted. Now, I just have to write the motherfucker.