Respiratory Infections

I've been sick for a little over three weeks so today I finally decided to pay a visit to the doctor. I'm not one to make appointments much less an appointment in which by the time the date rolls around I'd be deep in the throes of death. As a result, I drove myself over to the Urgent Care facility on Calle Ocho. The building is frustratingly cold the way a hospital should be and the staff is wonderful. They're all very nice and polite. This is the second time I go there (last time was for the blindness that was invading my eyes aka a severe case of ignored/I was living in denial pink eye) and the staff was equally as welcoming as the first.

My only issue with the center was that after my first visit I got a cute Get Well card signed by the nurses and doctors that saw me. I'll blame it on the economy and not on some sort of Baptist conspiracy against me in which they make me feel unloved and neglected like my third grade teacher did so well. The doctor checked my lungs (functioning), listened to my heart (beating well enough), and ultimately took a buccal swab to check for strep throat (they did this last time too). Fortunately, I do not have strep throat or mono, which Roly was incredibly quick to diagnose me with after I told him to cease and desist his love for Average White Girls. All I have is an Upper Respiratory Infection that forces me to be bed-ridden for two days all the while over dosing on Motrin and antibiotics and watching horrible movies like Twilight (for the fourth time).

I'm sort of frustrated at the way certain things turned out, but at the same time I've learned not to waste more than a few minutes of energy (or five depending how long it took me to write that letter) on those that I wish I could verbally berate. I mailed a letter off today, and I'm kind of hoping it gets lost. I wonder if things ever really truly get lost in the mail.

I've been listening to The Mountain Goats, they're lulling me to sleep. I'd listen to Bob Dylan but he just makes me cry.