Too much information

I have finally given in: I went and got my damn Z-pack today. You know, I was like “Say, I am a healthy young man, I should be able to get better on my own.” That was Sunday. Monday, I wake up, feel like shit (no surprises there since that is pretty much how I feel ANY time that I do not sleep until I wake naturally), say to myself “I’ll give it one more day and then I’ll call the doctor.” Tuesday morning, I wake up, feel like shit (see above parenthetical notice), and say to myself “I’ll give it one more day and then I’ll call the doctor.” Wednesday morning… nah, just fucking with ya: Tuesday, I lost my voice. Yes, it apparently IS possible to actually shut me up. I sounded worse than um, that guy… hold on while I look it up… Dustin Diamond, you know, Screech from “Saved by the Bell”. Ha ha ha! All of that effort for something not so funny. My metaphor wasn’t that good either.
Anyway, cutting remarks aside, I decided to give in. I absolutely HATE taking drugs, pills, medications, potions, unguents, creams I like okay… my point is, I don’t like putting foreign substances that aren’t Jose Cuervo into my body. I knew I had turned hardcore when I washed my cold pills down with cough syrup, so I was like “May as well go ahead and get the fucking Z-pack.”
I made the call to my doctor, and I had to schedule an appointment. I hate this because I feel like I have to pay him $20 to sit around for forty-five minutes in order for him to say “You are sick. Get a Z-pack.” It’s terrible having a doctor that actually wants to look at you. Anyway, he said that this always seems to happen with me: I catch something, probably viral, then it goes into my sinuses with bacteria, and bingo! sinus infection. I sort of want to go “Doi! Why not just write me the scrip then and save your time and my money?” But I don’t, because he has felt my genitals and may have to do so again in the future… especially if I get lonely and have $20 to blow.
So, I will be getting better soon, which is a good thing: apparently, I am a hairsbreadth away from obesity, at least according to the chart on the wall behind the scale in the doctor’s office, anyway. Shit. Now I have to start working out and eating better. That does it: I’m going to buy an iPod. If I am going to be surrounded by sweaty people I have no interest in talking to, I should at least be able listen to my own music. Scissor Sister, can you work it on out?