Apparently I'm 'normal' in all the ways that can be measured. And in all the ways that can't be..well who's to know?
I went to the doctor today for the results of all my tests - no explanation for my bodily freak out two weeks ago; oh well, I have chemical, molecular, freakin' GP certification that I am O. K. So why don't I feel it?
I had another run in with e-vil facebook. John was on just now, adding photos, doing general John things. I made myself 'active' to chat, thinking maybe, just maybe he might say hello. Nope. Seemingly that is expecting too much. He writes me a random email, like three weeks ago, he never responds to my response - dammit, sometimes I just want to cry for the futility of it all. This stupid waiting game.
You know, John is one of those men who five minutes before dinner, tells his wife he's going out for a pack of smokes and never returns. Stupid ass. Him, and me.
My unhappiness used to be relatively uncomplicated, now it's just littered with stupid man stuff.
"don't even try, still get the guy"
"let men chase you"
"engage the apricot"
Excuse me Zoe Foster, but I think you're just a little bit full of shit. This advice coming from the woman who hooked the co-author (i.e Hamish Blake) of this stupid book that I paid actual money for. Please note hazard #32 of online shopping for seriously insecure and desperate females bearing credit cards. Be an apricot - what the fuck does that even mean Zoe Foster?! Lets be honest here, I want to say I'm the apple high up on the tree, but actually I think I'm that mushy one that rolled onto the ground last season, that no one can be assed picking up. That's my fruit metaphor.
The book should've been cheaper - that's all I'm sayin'...
Boy, am I in a rotten mood. It's not genetics's fault, it's not facebook's fault, it's not John's or even Zoe Foster's fault, really. It's just the life and times of a Monday evening in the life of me.
Worse things happen at sea, right, at least that's what the oldies tell me.