:onland://online/journal/october

I had a doctor's appointment today. I blame vegetarianism. Jon blames lack of exercise. I say, [ "my brain can bench 1,000." ] The doctor, Sharon, wants to take blood. My imagination wants something drastic: a story! I can't. Too risky. I don't knock on wood, so to say something taboo is a risk.

I rushed to the elevator (I hate being late for doctor's appointments).The service man was coming out, I flew in (didn't even have to hit the button). He says, "Oh!" the way I said, "Yay!" and then I said, "oh?" in response to him. "Going down?" he asks. Well, yeah.

He says he'll take me down. But why? Well, because, I guess. Either way, he's in there. Sees my html book in my arm, to read while waiting for the doctor since I didn' t study last night re: tables. "Computer class?" he inquires. "No," I say. Don't want to tell him about my doctor's appointment and the cancer that may be infecting my head, ear, lung, toe, if my imagination had a choice. "Bored at work, " a big smile. Off the elevator. To the doctor's.

beam me up, scotty