||[Jun. 25th, 2007|10:44 am]
The American Caliban
So my shoulder hurts, and I went to the doctor. And we tried a couple things and they didn't work. So he sent me to the MAN! Super-neurologist. Pain specialist. That guy was indeed a skilled and professional physician. He tried a very special thing and it didn't work.
So then the MAN said that there was a higher, more esoteric, almost hermetic knowledge held by one whose feet he was not worthy to clean, and sent me to him, with the warning "it can take a while." Since the MAN himself was hard to see, I was full of the fear of this sage's appointment queue, and today I nerved myself up to call.
September 22. (Forty years in the desert.) I made the appointment. I also made a "start over" appointment with my humble yet proficient physician, and let the MAN know how high the peak and how covered in mist, and the terrible length of the journey.
My brother told me to get tested for the autoimmune problem that has made his life hell. Hey, why not?
I'm still a little upset that the nature of my ailment makes mall shooting sprees difficult. I could shoot lefty but I hate brass in my teeth, and I can't even use a machete too well without my right hand. I guess I'll have to go amok slapping people, or kicking them like the Black Night in Holy Grail.. Suck.