I am sick for the third time in three months. I am sick of being sick. I am sick of fevers and sweating and shivering and my head hurting and wanting to cry out of sheer bloody frustration. The doctor told me that I probably have a virus. I nearly cried all over him. I hate viruses. I think they're a medical cop out. I go to the doctor to be fixed not to be told to do what I had been doing before I hauled my sweaty arse out of bed to see a doctor. See how that wasted several hours good sleeping time?
I completely blame my job for the recurrent illness. If I wasn't being worked like a fucking slave I'd probably be fine. It's not the least bit surprising that the one thing that keeps being a problem is my throat. It's strain. How much, really, can you talk in a day without your throat deciding that it's had enough? Yeah, I reckon I've reached that point. And then some. I still feel weak and like a loser for succumbing to illness.
The doctor shook my hand upon introduction. What the fuck? Is he insane? Does he want to catch something? He also said something about seeing me again to which I rudely replied, 'I hope not.' I mean really, I'm at the doctor because I'm ill it's not a social occasion. I have no reason to see him again unless I'm sick - is he wishing for me to be sick so that I can randomly come back and scam more Medicare money for him? He should have offered me quality drugs - I'd go for daily appointments for that. Instead he offered me nothing but advice I could give myself.
Fever makes me rant. Get over it.