What the everloving fuck? It's ten in the morning. I was working. My doctor will not refill my script for vicodin and now I have to go and get dental work done on Saturday just so I can get that. Granted, I need to see the dentist, but I'd like to do it looking a little less like a junkie needing a fix.
This isn't funny.
Note: I get the fact I decided to reschedule my surgery does in fact make this my own fault, yes. Mea fucking culpa. Even so, even now, I'm not sure I'd make a different decision because a.) missing a week at work would have very probably killed me with the backlog and b.) surgery terrifies me so much I stop processing when I imagine having to go through it. Emotion is not logical and I still freeze up even thinking about it. That argues Horace either has to escalate--which hey, second time it's happened in the morning, I think this is the definition of--or possibly an ER visit due to rupturing, which I'm aware is surgery plus danger. I am really hoping with serious intent that at some point my logical brain will kick in and override my instinctive urge to curl into a ball and scream at the thought of anesthesia.
God, I'm tired of being this afraid. It's so goddamn exhausting.
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