baggage's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Drenamin So the doctor has me taking pills-well-supplements she calls them-to help me get my glands back in shape. That's glands, not hands. Geez. I go in there because my hand screams out in agony everytime I try to type, and she tells me my glands are whacked out. Imagine that. My fricking glands. And now that I think about it, seems to me that I can trace back EVERY problem I've ever had back to my glands. I mean-it all started when hair started growing in places it never grew before. Seems that over night my thoughts went from Saturday morning cartoons to Saturday night rendezvous with Christina or Terry or Cathy or Tammy. Those damn glands. Hair loss? Weight gain? Water retention? Memory lapse? The glands. So, it shouldn't have been too surprising when The Doctor handed over the supplements and told me to take one every hour. Geez. One every hour? Can you imagine? My blood is swimming in this crap. My glands must have been screwed in a major way for the doctor to prescribe such a healthy dosage. And as far as my hands go, well, they do feel a bit better-although not well enough for me to write the long, rambling entry I prefer to write ( Oh be quiet. You can stop clapping now). But, in other areas, well, there has been a definite change. Suffice to say that this stuff has one interesting side effect. It makes me, well, "eager." Or shall we say, "friendly." Or maybe, "romantic." Girl-Unit asked the doctor about this side effect last Saturday before our visit to the wonderful Getty Museum and was told that yes, some patients have said the same thing, So imagine that. My hand hurts, and I get a supplement that works like Viagra. I always suspected that sex could cure everything.
9:09 p.m. - 2001-07-16 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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