Why My Doctor Rocks And More Meaningless Shit

I have a very cool doctor. He's in his 40s, a screenwriter, divorced, funny, easy to talk to, and a great listener. Back when my mother was dying, he was her doctor, too, and came and told us all to take off and have a family lunch, and to take as long as we wanted, and he'd sit with her. And he did, he sat there holding her hand and talking to her for the next three hours because, as he said, "She was one hell of a cool woman."

Anyhow. I had to go get a urine test because of Strange Things Being Afoot last week, and I got home today to receive the verdict on my machine. "Yo, Steff. Your pee was perfect. Ciao for now!"

He rocks. Enough said.

Again, I'm wiped today. Asthma, etc. Yawn. I replaced my mirror with a shiny new one, and now the other one looks like a rusted piece of shit (which it is) and now I feel compelled to count my piggy bank up to see if I can get a pretty new one for the other side, but then again, shoes would be nice. Geez. Contrast sucks, though!

But you wanna hear somethin' weird? I'm there getting the mirror after zipping down to get cash from the bank and returning, and who should walk in?! The chick I saw getting hit in the accident last year that gave me closure to my own series of accidents! How WEIRD is that? And tomorrow's the fourth anniversary of All That Shit Starting to Go Down. Friday's her one-year anniversary. I really need to phone the insurance folks on her behalf in the morning.

And, then, on my ride home, a truck in front of me had the sticker, "Tough times never last, but tough people always do." I grinned and nodded. Then I went and bought Timbits. (Donut holes from Tim Horton's.) I'm bad.

Speaking of bad food but stuff that's actually good for you: I discovered chocolate almond milk at the Dan-D-Mart! MmmMm. It's better than soy and rice milk, and allergen free. It fucking rocks. I'd tell you the brand name but it's slipping my mind and my energy level says SIT.

Aside from that, I've nothing else to say to you people. Good night and good luck. There's some writing I might do later, but I'm pretty frazzled right now. Two topics loom -- more 9/11 writing, but I don't have "rant mode" on yet, and the other is about estrogen in the urban water supply. Interesting shit, says I, but then if it wasn't, why would I feel the need to write, right? Right.

I think I hear a Timbit squeaking, "Eat me, Steff!" Allow me to acquiesce, then! Die, Timbit! Die! CHOMP.

ADDENDUM: How's this for a cool story? Just saw this on the news. There's this BC dude who's a former US Paratrooper who served in the Korean War, way back when. He jumped 107 jumps during the war, and hasn't jumped in 50 years. He's about 80 now, has no teeth, and his family bought him a skydiving trip as a present! He's so old and frail he couldn't pull the jumpsuit on over his clothing, and needed help. He did a tandem jump and after his rough landing, he was asked how it went. "Awesome," he said, gumming his words. Worth the wait of a lifetime, he decided. Now that's a cool tale. Reminds me of the old woman I knew who skydived at 81 and became a blackbelt in Karate at 82. If you think your life's short, think again. Just getting started. And that goes for you too, Birthday Boy.