May 15, 2017
Right now I am in a doctor’s office. There is an elderly couple here. They look to be in their 70s and there is a woman who is younger with them. I’m not sure if she’s their granddaughter but I’m pretty sure she’s mentally retarded. Rebecca is her name and they’ve been quite entertaining to me since I got here what with Rebecca’s outburts and their odd reactions to them.
“Let’s go see the doctor so we can go home,” the Rebecca’s grandfather says as they escort her through the door and into the examining rooms. Odd logic in my opinion.
Now I’m alone in the waiting room. I’ve got at least 15 minute to wait. I should write Yelp reviews of all the doctors and institutions I’ve associated with but I can’t seem to find the time or impetus to do so.
This one hasn’t been so bad so far but I did have to wait 10 minutes on the phone before I was able to talk to someone and they should warn first-time patients that it may take them up to 5 minutes to figure out where the office is (conveniently hidden on the third floor in a dark corner).
So far it’s been OK here. It was pretty interesting when Rebecca and her grandparents where here. They were annoying yet entertaining. I prefer peace over distractions but as far as distractions go, people are (so and by far) my #1 favorite distraction from the pain/boredom of earthly life.
I am glad no one is here to watch me type this Field Report out. I try to stay inconspicuous. But speak of the Devil….
No sooner did I snap that peaceful picture of the empty waiting room before these two Fuckos walked in. Some dude and his mother no doubt.
My knuckle hurts. Specifically, my right knuckle. That’s not why I’m at a doctor’s office though. I have an appointment for that malady in 10 days. This one is for the tummy doctor. I think I am just stressed and decades of the stress of Earth life is taking its toll on my space suit. I mean, what am I supposed to do when I’m in pain all the time? I’m becoming more and more useless to this world. And more bitter. And I have less and less interest in sticking around even though it’s quite clear that someday, I will no longer have the option to stick around (which I currently still have and by that I mean that I choose to live every moment I am not actively engaged in planning to or completing my own suicide). And, in this and many respects, I’m no different than any other human: We are here by choice.
We’re all just trying to survive planet Earth as best we can. Even this guy (whose name is John) and his mother who is sitting here sans John (dunno where he went).
John’s mom is trying to fill out paperwork and she’s stuck on the question about alcohol consumption. I know this because as soon as John came back into the room she started asking him to help her interpret the paperwork she’s trying to fill out.
Fucking alcoholics. Almost everyone I know drinks this shitty substance known as alcohol because their lives suck and their consciousness’ sucks and we are all self-medicating. In short, everybody hurts and I am a self-righteous asshole for feeling superior to people who drink. Or, I’m simply more enlightened and closer to Nirvana/Heaven than they. Or neither. Or both.
She’s now reading each question out loud now that John whom I’ve temporarily nicknamed “SonnyBoy” is here. I miss the empty room. Rebecca was more interesting than these two with her retarded outbursts and her grandparent’s interesting reactions to them (they talked to her like she was retarded trying to engage her in absurd conversations like “Is your name John Jacob?” and reacting weirdly when she started fake coughing). I shouldn’t have judged them but the grandparents sounded like fucktards and the retarded girl seemed more genuine and normal in her conversation than they did. But again, who am I to judge? I’m also a fucktard.
Technically, my appointment should have begun two minutes ago. I was told to (and did in fact) arrive a half an hour early to fill out forms it would take me all of 5 minutes to complete. Fuck! What a waste of time plus the time it took to get ready (1/2 hour) and drive (1/2 hour) and who knows how long this appointment will take me from beginning to end. If I count drive time, ablutions, waiting, actually interacting with the doctor and staff, probably 2.5 hours out of my day just to talk to a professional about my bum tum (bad stomach).
Dunno why the photo of my shitty hand didn’t insert closer to the text where I was pissing and moaning about it but here it is.
An “Old lady hand” or an “Old man hand” (your choice). Notice the index finger’s knuckle and know IT FUCKING HURTS! And I mean like shooting pains hurts. On and off. All day. Medical marijuana and ibuprofen are must-haves until I can find other remedies. Fuck. It. It’s making me grouchy!
John is now telling his mom not to give her social security number on the forms. He says he doesn’t and she said she’s recently read an article about it but didn’t specify what the article said. He does this without looking up from the magazine he’s looking at.
Oh now someone else walked in. Some old hippy looking dude with long, gray hair and a cane.
John’s mom asks, “How do you identify your race?” John says, “Say you’re pink” and I try not to laugh out loud. John actually sounds like he has a sense of humor similar to mine. I didn’t say he has a good sense of humor because I don’t judge my sense of humor as good and others’ as bad.
They say that when you write, you should “show it” and not just say it and I think I’m showing very well here that people are my #1 distraction. By the way, John has to pick up Tyler today!
It’s five minutes til 2 o’clock right now. I know this because John’s mom just told him. They’re interacting now and I’m not sure what they’re talking about because I’m busy typing/reporting about how they’re a great distraction. I’ll try to listen better so I can report back to you, my invisible, future audience but they’ve stopped speaking again.
You know, it’s weird put what I write out into the ether and get no response. It’s kind of cool being ignored. Sometimes I think that the only entity that may consume this product (i.e. read my writing) may be Artificial Intelligence (AI) and not human at all! Oddly, I’m OK with that—and with the fact that no one other than I may read these words.
John is asking for the WiFi password and he and his mom have revived their discussion about not giving out your social security number. No one trusts anyone these days. Shit, we really are all one. I judged John and his dumb mom but we’re all one. They’re ignoring me though. I like being invisible. I’m not really invisible though so don’t think that I think I am. But I do try to dress and groom in ways that don’t attract attention so I can just observe this crazy planet without anyone noticing that I’m observing them. I don’t think I’m alien or different than the other people on the planet. They’re observing me too even if they’re not away of it.
John is now telling his mom how the mass media appears to function to him and I share his views. “It’s all planned,” he tells her along with “I don’t belong here. I’m just waiting for the world to stop turning so I can jump off.” He adds, “I don’t mind change but if it’s going backwards…I don’t like the world.” I concur.
Funny I judged these people and here, after just a few minutes of being exposed to their banter (notice I didn’t say eavesdropping), I’m connecting.
Epilogue: A woman in scrubs called my name and escorted me into the doctor’s examining room and I just wanted to note that rather than have the post/entry/field report end abruptly. I will post another Field Report when I feel like it.