Bloody Hell.... They send him a Milch-bubi!

Mondays aren't usually good days for me.

But this one... will have to get a record for being obnoxious.

First there was the all-important meeting with a doctor who was given the order from the pension people to 'examine' me, and make sure I am completely dotty, and invalid, because I am still too young to get a pension. And not simulating, or something of that sort. (Right, my nerve costume isn't exactly like Coco Chanel at present, and looks more like Emmet Kelly's hobo outfit at the moment. (Young readers won't get that last reference. He was a famous clown, and the suit was full of holes.)

My appointment was at the ungodly hour of eight am, way across town. Two busses, one transfer. Two of the first I needed wouldn't let me on---overcrowded due to all the kids on the way to school.

So I had to hoof it and get my ass to the transfer site, about twenty minutes' walk away. Then keep an eye out for my stop, because am really not so familiar with that part of town. Good thing I gave myself an hour, because I didn't find the offices right away. But I got there at two minutes' to eight. (I have this 'thing' about being punctual... anal retentive, I know...)

And then I had to wait ten minutes to see the doctor, pretty good as far as that goes. It gave me time to check his diplomas. 'American School of Neurology'.

And I thought, 'oh-oh, one of them. Which only means he is probably not going to be gay-friendly, just like the first one, Dr. Klaus, who had lots of 'Jeebus Can Save You' leaflets in his holistic waiting room for mostly cancer patients. I made him so uncomfortble, he passed me on.

Now this made me even more uneasy than I was already.

Whatever, there he was, of a certain age, you know, middle but undefinable... And the first thing out of his mouf was 'Why don't you want to work any more?' Well, at least he was to the bloody point.... And I said, 'I just can't cope any more, especially with stress, I have had too much stress these past few years. '

'Why? When did this begin?'

So began with the stroke Peter had, cut got off... 'I don't want to know about him, I want to know what is bothering you.' (Uh-huh, one of them.) 'Well if I define myself through him after thirty years, it is about me, and listen.' After that it went fairly ok, although there was a lot of sparring, and some very bitchy comments on his part. (Picture the self-hating Harold in The Boys In The Band', and you got it.)

So I guess I was telling truth to power, but he was pissing me off. And I did tell the truth, all of it that you can squeeze into fifty minutes.... And didn't tell one lie. He got me so exasperated, and he comes up with, 'your hands are shaking.' And I said, 'Ive always been a nervous sort of person.' (Thinking, 'only because I want to throttle you till you turn blue in the face, you pompous asshole...')

I was livid inside. And then I played the total truth card. 'Lately, and more and more often, I just keep thinking about just ending it all.' And it is true, I do. 'You think about suicide...' 'Yes.'

And then the killer, because he didn't believe me..... 'How would you do it?'

'Oh, that is easy enough. Just borrow Peter's pen and shoot up enough insulin to do the job.' Nothing better than the truth, hey... and it wouldn't be 'messy'.

That is when he sort of changed his demeanor. And got VERY uncomfortable. Said I need counseling. (righhttt...) If he was uncomfortable before, he was squirming till then. He asked me, I answered, and did't tell even one little lie. Wanker.

And said I would soon hear from the pension people.

Only I have the feeling I am gonna be hearing from some very unpleasant people soon. You know, go to a therapist they assign you, leave you up in the air status-wise, and otherwise fuck around with your life.

Can we say it was 'irritating'?

Will put act two in the next post....