Where Have I Been?

Don't get me started.

Let me say this:

1) I hate change.
People who decide to spruce your place up by rearranging things for you are not helping you. I put things where I put them because that is where they go. If they are not where they go, things happen - like slamming your foot into the leg of your table.

2) I am FINE.
Even when I am holding my toes and whimpering. Except two weeks later when I've been yelling "Dammit" everytime I step on that foot, and finally I fall over while running for the elevator and I make the final jump. People who laugh at you when you hit the wall and curse are freckle-faced jerks.

3) I HATE DOCTORS.
No, this one I really mean. I can't stand them, and I've never liked them. I swear, the next time I get hurt, I'm going to go find Munch's friend with the boy scout manual and the leeches, or the one with the chemistry set, the subscription to Web MD Pro, and a serious addiction to House, M.D.. They couldn't possibly do worse. I swear, doctors these days spend six to eight years learning nothing except how to flounce. Infected tendon? Possible arthroid attack? I KICKED A TABLE. I need an X-RAY! She wanted to give me Vicodin and some sleeping pills. I asked "Uh, do those really mix?" She looked again and said "Oops." I don't like that word in a medical setting or in any other setting when my pants aren't on.
I demanded a second opinion - I can read the damn chart myself, but they need a center employee. Luckily the cleaning guy was on his break. I grabbed the stuff, handed it to him, he wiki'd it, and we both agreed that Dr. Buffy was full of crap. Sleep and a splint. My granny coulda diagnosed that.
No. More. Doctors. Even Rodgers is on notice - unless she uses Freckles for a practice dummy again.