I know, what a conversation starter. Brilliant.
I'm not anticipating a lovely day tomorrow. Here's the deal: it's 11:00 pm, also known as "Bedtime." I've got Mac White here propped up on my knees while I'm propped up on pillows. I've got that nagging nasty queasy belly, the same yucky feeling I've been having for over a year, or more, who remembers anymore. Today I went to see my pshrink, DOCTA-CHAN, who seemed frazzled. Usually he's a little tan-skinned black haired bundle of controlled energy, but today he ran his hands through his hair a lot. I wanted to ask him if he gets really sick of seeing all these messed up emotionally fragile people 5 days a week but I sensed I'd only get about 10 minutes of his time so I talked about my Side-effexor instead. Poor man. He's great; he totally understands that I don't want to change anything with the medication until after my Instructor's Exam. Maybe I feel crummy, but at least I know what I'm dealing with, and changing it means I won't know what the heck will happen. It's better to know what I have to work with. Don't rock the boat or spook the horse or whatever analogy you prefer.
DOCTA-CHAN wants to rule out any physical structural kind of possible reasons why I'm feeling so rotten in the guts all the time. Three weeks ago he told me to ask my family doctor for a few tests, this ominous barium thing being one of them. Come to think of it, my family doctor is also a a little tan skinned black haired dude, only Dr H is one of the most soft spoken and chill humans ever. Anyways. Tomorrow I have to go do an "upper G.I. series" and I'm not thrilled about it. I can't eat breakfast in the morning, I can't drink anything after midnight. I wake up queasy every morning and need water, but can't drink tomorrow. I'll have to take my meds on an empty stomach. Ugh.
But the upside is that Bucky is very excited about his mother being all full of a radioactive substance. He'll probably try to build a geiger counter after school. He'll pull all kinds of jokes about me being my own night-light. Tribble thinks it's funny that I'll be downing a nice jumbo sized "Chalk-olate" shake. Also she informed me that barium is on the periodic table of elements. I don't think there is a periodic table of stuff you wouldn't choose to voluntarily ingest.
I wonder if the folks who get paid to pour horrid stuff down people's throats and then tip them upside down and take pictures of their guts have a sense of humour...