Toxic

I have so much to say, but sitting here staring at the almost-blank screen I'm at a loss for words. I feel like rambling. Where did the words go?

impatient with my patients today. numero uno was a cokehead with a crap heart -- all blown out big and barely squeezing. she asked me if everything looked good. i said, i'm sorry, i don't interpret these ultrasounds, a cardiologist will read it. she is appeased. i am not. next was a creepy lady who stared at me the whole time without saying a word. granted, she's had a stroke and is no longer able to talk, but still. it creeped me out. usually i'd think, oh, poor lady. but today, all i've got is 'damn, stop looking at me creepy woman'. next was an equally creepy guy. granted, he is mentally retarded (not my words -- that's what was written in his chart), but still. he kept stopping me so he could pee in his little plastic urinal. there is something strange about seeing a guy maneuver his penis into a urinal. normally i wouldn't look but today, well, you know . . . i did look. all i was really thinking was hey, good for you buddy. your penis is long enough to fit down inside the urinal. nubs are rarely as successful. patients 4 and 5 were far less interesting and only get an honorable mention here.

i saw an interesting movie yesterday -- the dead girl. i'd expected it to be a murder mystery, and i suppose there was some mystery involved, but it was mostly brief strung-together glimpses into the psyches of five or six different characters. definitely my kind of film. the first part, with toni collette, was my favorite. self-loathing, s&m, etc. yummy good. oh, and giovanni ribisi -- super yummy good. oh, oh, and james franco -- super duper yummy good. i rented slumdog millionaire for tonight -- don't know if i should go there though. maybe tomorrow.

i feel like throwing things. like throwing breakable things at brick walls. crash bang splinter ouch. but i won't. i learned a long long time ago that throwing things is counter productive. and costly. i haven't thrown anything in five years. except for the occasional tennis ball for billy. i will now take a brief break from writing to imagine throwing breakable things at brick walls.