I got four, count 'em, four hours of sleep last night. First, I couldn't fall asleep, probably because I was thinking about the blood doc appointment I had this morning. You know, new doc, new horrific tests involving electrical shocks or claustrophobia death-tubes, and all. Then, as I was finally drifting off, Mr. Z starts calling out at 2 a.m. He had a sore throat and his tonsils sounded so swollen, I thought it was former Bulls center Bill Cartwright calling out from his room.
So, between going back and forth to the boy's room with water/Motrin, and obsessing about Dr. Blood, my night fucking sucked donkey balls.
And, the blood doc didn't let me down today. He's of some sort of Slavic descent, so he had this kind of Dracula vibe going on, which seemed very appropriate, being interested in blood and all. Basically, he wants to do more fucking tests on me. X-rays... fine. Regular blood tests... no problem. Aspirate a sample of fat from my stomach... huh-WHUH?! Suck a sample of bone marrow from my hip bone... WHAT THE SHIT, DUDE?!?!
Once again, I'm convinced these dudes just make this shit up. "Hmmm... numb toes, eh? Well... let's stick a needle in your... in your HIP. Yeah, that's it! Then, we'll suck out a sample of your bone marrow and then, ah what the hell... just for good measure, let's... stick a needle in your belly and suck some of that shit out, too. Sound good? Great! That'll be nine million dollars, please. Oh, and did I mention that the bone marrow thing is going to HURT LIKE BALLS?!!"
After all this dickin' around, I better have fucking bubonic plague, goddammit. There's no way I'm going through all this bullshit so they can tell me I'm healthy. Fuckin' fuckers.
On a positive note, I've been toiling away the last coupla nights on Mr. Z's latest song, "Fledgler's Log." It's pretty rockin' -- his lyrics are incredible. I've just been trying to come up with some music that'll do it justice. Oh, and did I mention he sings it in a British accent?
Anywhich, I'm passing out now.