10:52AM, my neurologist’s office.
Man, I hope that fish eats some more rocks. That’s hiLARious when he spits ‘em back out.
I’d really like a fish tank. Salt water, tho. Freshwater fish poo too much. Shit, I’d probably kill them. Then I’d be depressed for months.
10:55AM, my neurologist’s office.
BUBBLES! BUUUUUBLES! BUBBLE BUBBLE BUBBLE!
Man, fish are hilarious.
11:05AM, my neurologist’s office.
Fuck, this is gonna be some shitballs news. I really should’ve put this off another day.
OH, hell, he’s asking me a question about my headaches. LOOK AWAKE. Nod. Yeah! Nodding is always good. WAIT, I just told him my headaches are getting better. RETRACT, RETRACT, RETRACT.
11:10AM, my neurologist’s office.
He really does look like a cowboy from a spaghetti Western. Wait, what the hell does “spaghetti Western” mean? Either way, he totally does.
Shit, more drugs. And these side effects. If the headaches won’t kill me, the treatment fucking will.
11:12AM, my neurologist’s office.
Is he still talking about side effects? I’m getting depressed. I know, I should think about something else.
Why is Jessica Simpson, reported to be due “this spring” so huge? I don’t believe it. I bet she’s popping out a kid any moment now.
11:17AM, my neurologist’s office.
Did Jay-Z and Beyonce REALLY shut down an entire NICU for their baby? That’s some bullshit.
hums, “it’s a hard knock life.”
11:22AM, my neurologist’s office.
He’s yelling at me for not getting a blood test done. Fuck. What was the test again? I love tests. Just yesterday I took an IQ test – I’m pretty sure I failed.
Should I tell him about my IQ test and ask if that’s what he wanted? NO. Bad call, SHUT UP BECKY.
11:24AM, my neurologist’s office.
Damns. More drugs. And a side effect that can kill me – another one. Lords.
THINK OF THE BUBBLES, BECKY. BUUUUUUUUBLES.
Not working. Imagining my funeral.
People better be crying at my funeral. None of this – “celebrate my life” bullshit – I want tears. REAL TEARS. I will PAY people to cry if I have to.
Shit, I wonder what the going rate is for funeral criers.
Hrms. Would I find them on Craigs List? That seems to be the best place to find ‘em. Fuck. They took out Craigs List personal ads. Fuck. Now I’m gonna have to find a real job.
11:36AM, my neurologist’s office.
Ooooh! My brain is rewiring itself to become better at circumventing my migraine meds. That’s almost robotic.
Wait. No. That means my brain is becoming resistant to it. That’s not good.
11:42AM, my neurologist’s office.
Woah, he gave me a lot of instructions and all I can think is: “when is Jessica Simpson REALLY having her baby?” This is not good.