"my office moved" my doctor said as she escorted me through the halls.
upon entering it, I realize it looks exactly the same and that I might possibly be having an Inception moment.
"the windows are slightly bigger" she added. oh ok. (very slight)
her uncomfortably sanitary couch is my 'safe' place.
safe to say what I want; how I feel (no matter how stupid); that dumb thing I did last night that I do not understand. she does not judge or gasp; compare or look at me in a way that makes me feel wrong. instead she listens, prompts me to find answers to my own questions, remembers the names of people in my life, and laughs when I say something funny.
(I bet she has a lot of friends)
coincidentally, her waiting room could not be more opposite (I exaggerate. it could be more opposite).
it is a room shared with other doctors and is typically decorated with someone that is sobbing, someone that is talking too loud about personal stuff with a stranger (who is trying to get away), someone still in their pajamas, someone complaining loudly about the water cups being cone-shaped, someone deciding this is the best place to dump everything out of her purse and clean it. on the ground.
sigh. those stupid cups.
in other news...
...the big spider I smashed in my bedroom last week was more impressive than this year's Super Bowl. at least I did not dirty my shoe for it.
...being stressed, worried, not sleeping, and not eating is resulting in me doing dumb things to my boyfriend. or is it the other way around?
...how do you stop a Ruferee from throwing flags on the play?