more ironic

In the midst of being somewhat of an insomniac tonight, I ironically am craving coffee. I used to drink mochas when stressed because of the oddly calming effect it would have on me. Now it probably wouldn’t be a great idea to pump caffeine into my system anymore.

Tomorrow’s my 4-hour video EEG at Stanford and I am hoping that this test finally shows something useful. I am tired of being poked and prodded and not having them find anything when clearly, something is weirdly wrong with my body, as demonstrated most clearly when my reflexes are tested with tuning forks and I spasm strongly enough to send them flying across the room. I am tired of doctors using words like “remarkable” and “fascinating” to describe me because I’m a patient with shiny new symptoms the likes of which they haven’t witnessed, and yet not following up to test me for anything out of the generic path. I’d like to somehow give life the finger right now just for kicking my ass so much. Given all that’s happened in the last almost four months, I think I’m perfectly justified in having an immature and raw angry moment in which I turn to the universe and say: cunt.