Well, I finally figured out who/where my doctor was after digging through mounds of paperwork for the letter they sent me to tell me that my cholesterol level was (finally!) within normal range. It turns out I was right -- it was Annette Davis that I saw. So at least my brain isn't total mush. Of course, I got lost on the way there...
As for writing, I'm at 42,032. Not as far as I'd like, mostly because I just can't get out of bed. Seriously. It's like concrete blocks laying on my chest. I just lay there and feel miserable until around noon. Then I force myself to get up because if I don't, my bladder will explode. I'm hoping tomorrow will be better.
Here's a poem that my dad wrote. Bridey Murphy, according to the Skeptic's Dictionary, was a 19th century woman that Virginia Teghe claimed to have been in a past life. She kicked off the whole reincarnation fad for a while.
From womb to tomb
and then return,
to me is most confusing.
I'd always thought
that haunting houses
would be much more amusing.