master plan

30 12 2009

I still haven’t put all my lists of things to do into a master plan.  I did get rid of some lists that were out of date, so now I’m down to…  8 3×5 cards!

I think my squeaky keyboard is what is making the birds horny.  I really, really need to fix my computer stuff.  It’s quite embarassing that I haven’t fixed my keyboard, monitor OR external hard drive yet.  I did put all the software CDs in a hard case instead of having them hang out in their individual boxes.  I also hung a shelf I dug out of the garage.

See?  I’m doing things – they’re just perfectly useless things!

I’m still coughing up slime marbles and I talked to my sister today and so is she.  She’s been on 10 days of antibiotics after going to the ER from coughing so hard that she was vomiting.

That means it’s anthrax and not the plague like we were expecting.

I did get my insurance changed over to a new doctor today, one day before my insurance expires.  Great fun.  The idiocy continued through last night when I was out of my antidepressant and having a panic attack.  I had called 24 hours before I was out like a good little girl (because calling too soon is bad, but you have to give them 24 hours notice) and they never called in the refill.  Shaun called the pharmacy and they called the doctor.  The doctor said “we need 24 hours to complete the request.”


At this point, we’re at 3 people calling them and I’m out of drugs.  That means that the 4th horsemen is saddling up and Elvis and Michael Jackson have been summoned to return from their UFO.  The pharmacy “loans” me 2 days worth of pills to stave off the pending zombie invasion and to lower my blood pressure.

Then around 7 last night, the other doctor from that practice calls back and says that he’s calling it in and needs details on what to call in.  *rolls eyes*  Shaun gives it to him.  15 minutes later a nurse from the office calls – “Cyndi needs to come in for a follow up visit.”

Um, why?  I’ve only been on this medication for like 3 years.  I needed a refill.  If you’d give me 3 months at a time, I wouldn’t call begging and pleading until I needed more.  “Oh, then I guess she doesn’t.”

I’m going to see my parents’ doctor.  For real.  I’m going to tell him “these are my parents and it’s their fault.”  I’m tired of people thinking I’m trumping up a history.  I mean, it’s OBVIOUS what’s wrong with me if you know them.  It’s also obvious where I get my thrilling good looks, amazing mental skills, and sense of humor from.

Besides, any doctor who can stand my dad and his jokes can handle me no problem.  I’m tame compared to the originator!




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