There Goes My Week.

As I sit here, I think, “Fucking Monday.”

Cup of tea fastened tightly in the gap of my thighs,

flickering candle in my peripherals,

Evolutionary Biology staring at me from the floor needing to be read,

Organic Chemistry screaming for attention that it needs, yet doesn’t deserve,

Cell and Molecular “Exam 3 Study Guide” patiently waiting, peering out from the textbook pages.

Instead. I’m throwing “Annie’s Cheddar Bunnies- Baked Snack Crackers” at my dog, who is lazily enjoying the raining cracker snacks and seems undisturbed by the rhythmic pattern of my fingers along the keys.

“Annie’s Homegrown Cheddar Bunnies.” Like anyone gives a flying fuck…homegrown… hah

“Fucking Monday” I think again, as another orange-tinted silhouette bunny leaves my fingers.

S told me Wednesday that on campus they have a dietitian, health center, etc. She told me “Monday at 9.”  A little encryptic I thought. All weekend I was consumed with those words… Does that mean I have an appointment? Was that just a suggestion? Was that when the dietitian was there? What the fuck do I do? I, as usual, was up by 5:30. Pondering, wondering what to do.

My doctor had made me the appointment with S, the therapist. She knew that otherwise I wouldn’t go. So, in my mind, it also made logical sense that S or my Dr, had just gone ahead and made me an appointment with the dietitian as well….knowing I’m a pansy ass. I figured, in all honesty, that is was more of a suggestion than an actual appointment, I mean the clinic on campus was walk in-right? S wouldn’t make me an appointment and just leave it with, yeah, “Monday at 9.” Would she?  After much internal turmoil I relied back on the same logic I had when first going to see S.

“If S had enough concern or initiative to make me an appointment, then I should at least have the respect to show up.” Plus, if I really did have a set appointment I didn’t want to be THAT bitch that just doesn’t show up.

So, I started this morning with a nice long run in freezing temperatures. I was unsure if my rapid heartbeat was directly correlated to the run, or was also anxious about the clinic. At around 8:48 I made the long trudge to the Health Clinic and up the set of stairs. I apologized for being ignorant and that I wasn’t actually sure if I had an appointment or not, just that I was told “Monday at 9.”

The lady, peering at me with a mixed expression of polite patience and annoyance, told me that there was nothing so far today. I explained it was for a dietitian and another lady looked up and said my name in a more questioning tone. I nodded and said, “Yes ma’am.”

“Oh… here it is…. your appointment isn’t until 10.” said the patiently annoyed lady- maybe I should have offered her my coffee.

So, I sat around campus and waited. At about 9:40 my phone rang and I answered it… long story short I was supposed to have a Dr. appointment at the clinic at 9, and dietitian appointment following at 10. What the fuck people, really. She asked me if I had forgotten or what. I explained I had stopped by and was told 10… so that was fun.

I made it back to the clinic, signed my life away, and got called back to meet my dietitian. She towered over me and had an intimidating, yet empathetic smile. Neither the doctor nor S had sent over any of my papers. So the dietitian told me that it was up to me to explain everything to her. (This will probably be a separate post). Talking about everything from brain receptors to greek yogurt to my running… https://faithfoodfear.wordpress.com/2014/11/11/skip-the-dessert-recovery-shock/

TO FUCKING EXERCISE RESTRICTION

After the talk that seemed to last eternity, she wanted to have me set up with a therapist there, and wanted to see me back again this week. I explained I was waiting for an “Oh shit” moment to really need help, when she told me that I was very close to having to go into inpatient.

So, my week so far:

Monday: Dietitian

Wednesday: S and Dr on campus

Thursday: Dietitian

SHEEZUS.

Look out for flying orange bunnies.

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