I feel like the sensible thing to do after your doctor cancels your appointment with about two hours' notice might be to journal through all (or some - imagine, even *some*) of what you've been saving up to discuss with him. despite this thought, I can't make myself write. I still don't know what the hell is going on with me. just because it's my life doesn't mean I have a clue what's going on... that seems to be the theme right now.
he cancelled in steps, too. I hate when he does that. he called, or rather - his secretary called - this morning, to reschedule the appointment ninety minutes later than my regular time. I, of course, assumed he was cancelling when she called that first time. but no. he cancelled through a second phone call, just to keep things interesting. bah. I'm sure I feel something, somewhere - something specific, even. past "blah", past "ick", past "inh"... like last night before I talked to either Sara(h), I was feeling lovesick. this whole picking-up-what-I-left-off-at-age-12 thingamajig is very, very strange... other than lovesick, I feel snot-filled, (as I'm sure you feel blessed to know) and I have a bizarre urge to suck on pretty images and drink them up. as of yet, I've not achieved a total break with reality, and therefore I have not yet tried to satiate this craving, but I do keep pulling up my image folder and clicking to look at my (suddenly numerous) user icons.
...I keep thinking about Dixie.
~me