Button, Button, What's in the Button?

D'ya ever try to pick that shit that's inside your belly-button out with a tweezers, but sometimes you accidentally grab onto a hunk-o-skin, and it kinda hurts but it also kinda itches in your nards? Yeah, uh, me neither. Shit, I hope those tweezers were sterilized.

Well, another week has almost come to a close and I still haven't been to the neurologist yet for my mystery ailment. Here's a tip -- if you have shit going on in your brain that's freaking you out and your doctor wants you to go see a neurologist, when the neurologist's secretary calls to make the appointment and she suggests an appointment date that's a month down the fucking road, don't say, "Oh, that sounds perfect. Thank you so much." It's gotten to the point now where if the doc doesn't find something seriously fucked up with me, it's going to be a major disappointment.

I think I've resigned myself to the fact that it's either MS or my spine is going to have to come out. One or t'other. Personally, I hope it's the latter. Maybe then I could finally bend forward enough to see what the shit is in my belly-button and perform a proper extraction.

And, while I'm down there...