I ain't the kind of guy that'll come and break all your records-but then again I just might

This morning I woke up feeling like I'd been set on fire and beaten to a smoldering pile of ashes. Not the way to start a week. Having no medical insurance I had little recourse but to tough out the issue or go to one of those awful clinics for the indigent. After two hours of calls made each quarter hour I finally made contact with one of the health care workers who informed me that the visit would cost $75 for me to see a doctor, and if I needed any tests or medicine I could count on twice that. Now, when was the last time you went in for an office visit that featured less than two tests of some sort? I can't go into a clinic with a knee swollen twice its natural size without having a pregnancy test and (explain this one to me) a series of allergy tests before the doctor goes ahead and gives me the damn X-Ray I so obviously need. I've come to the conclusion I could walk into a clinic carrying my detached thumb in a Big Gulp of Mountain Dew and before anyone bothered to try to re-attach it I'd have to have a pregnancy test. I think it's a law-wonder what males that walk into clinics are tested for? Or is it just that women that need to go to clinics are such sluts that no matter what may be the outward issue, the real problem is something transmitted sexually be it life or infection.
Well, far be it from me to challenge the system. I really wasn't sick enough to go to a doctor anyway come to think of it. All I really needed was some vitamin supplements and pain relievers. And a couple of naps. If the medical establishment doesn't want me-I don't want them. 'Sides, no matter what the problem may SEEM to be-the real issue is stess. That kind of deadline induced stress that simply must manifest itself in some form be that form screaming and crying fits or a general feeling of unwell. Or both. The basic thing is, having no real productive outlet for my tension and not really knowing what to do to suddenly attain a semester's worth of knowledge in two days I feel that I might be best served to just walk into the Morgan Room one last time and really go for broke. Just make things up, answer questions that aren't asked and formulate theories that in no way relate to the subject matter at hand. Failing that, I could just re-write the entire story arc (with misleading information and dead ends) of the X-Files.
I mean really, not a single one person in that department would EVER risk me returning for another semester. No way in hell. Wouldn't happen. Once acquainted with me there grows in the soul of most a nagging urge, an urge that grows larger until it is all consuming. That urge is to NEVER have to SEE me AGAIN! And in the case of the Dept of FS and Anth I am sure that no only is the feeling mutual it is nearly the strongest emotion I've felt this millenium. Other than sadness and the persistent bitterness that fuels my very being. But no emotion will be beating that out anytime soon.
Since leaving work in that fit yesterday (and probably for the last time, what with the whole I can't work for two weeks dillema) I've pretty much been in the house being no use to anyone. Other than that trip to the drugstore. Mik called at 10 this morning to tell me that she had decided we needed fish, fresh fruit and veg, whole grains and that. She was unanimous in that and would be going to the grocery store after work.
"Everything we eat is fried or covered in potatoes!" she cried dramatically. She's good at that.
"Well, you're in the South, fried doorknob with butter coated ragrug is a popular delicacy in these parts."
"It's disgusting and I won't stand for it."
Alright then, sounds lovely. I'd grown a bit tired of staring down the dry tortillas, and rotting chunks of cheese in the fridge anyway.
She came home and mercilessly tossed out food. I was banished from the kitchen and not allowed to touch the food until she was finished.
Resigned, and not that interested in the first place, I was sprawled on the couch watching the Simpsons. A series of disgusted sounds and the strong aroma of cleaning products filled the living room. Even the dog left the kitchen to get away from the cleaning taking place. She handed me a bag of trash which I took outside. Her passion for a well ordered refrigerator unnerved me. I can't say anything but a deadline inspires me to such frenzied activity.
She began making dinner. Pans were put on to boil for rice. The marinated fresh salmon filet was put onto the George Foreman grill. Broccoli was chopped. Whole grain bread smeared with goat cheese.
I poured a glass of wine and returned to my place on the couch. Jamie Oliver was trying to teach British school children to eat food other than chips and fish sticks and I was enthralled.