I'm starting to go crackers. Even my manatee tattoo looks depressed by all my pessimism. I can't make the doctors office get their shit together. I can't make them schedule that surgery. All I can do is be the crazy lady that calls every day, and eventually they will make something happen. In the mean time, I have to do something to take my mind off all this. I can't go to the gym and I fatigue really easily, but I'll just push on between naps. When I finally have this surgery, I'm going to be laid up for a while, so now is the time to do everything I can to prepare. I'll wash my laundry and pack a bag (if I end up in the ER again, they're sending me straight back to Wichita so I might as well). I'll clean my house and find all my coloring books. I may not be able to put one foot in front of the other, but by George, I can crawl.
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