Newest Archives Profile Whispers Rings Host
And I mean flushed in the non-bathroom sort of way Weighing my pockets with stones of longing |
This morning I had a doctor's appointment--just a check-up for a job application, but I learned a few things. Apparently, I am shrinking. My height is 163 and one half centimeters. Also, my weight dropped again to the point where maybe I shouldn't have been so optimistic and jumped the gun when I changed the numbers on my driver's liscence. According to the nurse practitioner, I have lungs like a six-year-old. That's probably not very good. The sad thing is, I got light-headed just from blowing into the plastic breath-o-meter. The little bar only went up like an inch and a half. It was pathetic. The whole experience kind of reminded me of a kid going to the carnival with some girl who lives next door that he secretly is in love with, and hoping to impress her he gets a ticket to the tower of strength, but when the hammer falls, the red disk between the zeros barely jumps, so the lights don't flash in her eyes, and she ends up going to the dance with some boy with a short name that starts with B that everyone likes, but this kid knows he's really a jerk, and he pines all through high school until eventually he just becomes jaded and worn-out and his heart turns a cold shoulder to her naively amicable nostalgie, all because of a red plastic disk that was too stubborn to be charitable. While I was at the clinic I had a chest X-ray. I didn't know whether the gown tied in front or back, and I got a headache after it was over. At least I didn't experience temporary loss of eyesight like last time. Then I would have been convinced I am utterly unwell and will never see another country again so long as I keep going to the doctor's office to be reminded of how weak I really am. However, here is something interesting. The doctor wrote on my form that I am in excellent physical and mental condition for teaching young children, and I have no mental or physical health concerns, and the French embassy will never know that this person has talked to me for a total of maybe thirty minutes in my whole life, which isn't even 3/1,000,000 of the total time I have been able to talk, and the most personal questions this person has ever asked me is if I take any prescription medication, or if I could please scoot forward a little closer to the edge of the examination table--certainly nothing to giggle about over drinks with fruit in them while we kick off our pumps and celebrate the end of another week at the office. But the embassy will never realize, and as far as they know, this doctor reccommended me for basketball team captain and knows I've never had a day of counseling in my life. In the hallway I saw a slipper-sized baby with soft dark feathers covering its tiny head and a dazzling young mom with short, magenta-colored hair. My dumb body keeps thinking about babies when I can't even tune a musical instrument without getting nervous.
I am all darks and delicates today. at 2:09 p.m.
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