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2007-01-06 @ 10:54 p.m.
run-on sentence with lots of commas, cause I can

Ya know how you’re laying on the couch after your pseudo-fake kinda sorta heart attack, that was actually diagnosed as a “muscle strain” even though the doctor gave you a prescription for stomach acid, and your mother keeps calling you all frantic asking you how you feel, because after all, your entire family are like poster children for heart disease (2 uncles dead, another one survived, an aunt died but was then revived. Your mother has had numerous heart attacks. Your brother has a pace maker), so she keeps calling and telling me she wants to make an appointment with her cardiologist because “that idiot at the hospital didn’t know what he was doing” but you have to make sure you can get a referral from your doctor, but you don’t see her until January 18th, but your mom wants you to take her upcoming appointment this next week, and it may be a good idea since you’ve been having numerous chest pains...I mean...muscle the last three days and you don’t know if they are legitimate or whether they’re just pseudo-fake kinda-sorta heart attack symptoms messing with your head, because you need attention, or your body is telling you to stop eating all that crap, although you did bring that last one pound bag of dark chocolate non-pereils to your art class Wednesday night and Charlemagne, after telling you the history of non-pereils and their relationship to French culture (who knew) took them home, which was okay, because for a short time you kinda thought that eating two pounds of chocolate in three days might have been responsible for your pseudo-fake kinda-sort heart attack symptoms, nee “muscle strain”, although previously you had been a kind of Olympic level chocolate eater, so you’re not really sure if that is a good diagnosis, although today when I went to the store, I was actually able to walk by the non-pereils and not buy any, so I think I might have actually cured myself of that particular addiction, which is quite stunning, although I did go and buy a pound of pistachios and laid on the couch, snapping open nuts in the dark for about 25 minutes, contemplating life, like, “Gee, I wonder if I really have heart disease and should go to a cardiologist or if my body just faking me out because I somehow need some attention”, because that wouldn’t be the first time that happened, although look at my family history....Heart Disease Central....and I always seem to get the worst of both families....depression from my Dad....and now possibly heart disease from my mom, when I would rather just inherit some incredibly good-looking cheekbones, or no chin hairs, instead of getting something that could maim or kill me, because those chest pains in the last couple of days have been consistently uncomfortable and making me wonder if I’m on the road to The Big One, because, after all, our family practically built that cardiac unit at the local hospital and it didn’t help today when I asked the girl at the grocery store to double bag everything, and she only double bagged the freakin’ eggs and then I had to carry a 2 litre diet coke, 3 large cans of soup and a carton of milk all in a single bagged bag and get some rather squeezing chest pains carrying them upstairs, only to open the double-bagged egg bag to find most of them smashed, due to the fact that the clerk had packed the eggs in with a carton of orange juice and a baked potato, and I was like WTF, ya know, because she had already fucked up my food stamps, standing there like a damn sheep going, duh, when I said, “Food stamps” because she didn’t know what to do and had to call the manager, I guess tired after plotting to smash my eggs and raise the probability of giving chest pains (nee muscle strain) to a 48 year old woman, who didn’t even really want to go out today anyways, but I had to get a prescription filled for some stupid ass stomach acid medication which will probably be totally useless, but in the spirit of prompting some possible stomach acid, I will be eating some Mexican food tonight, just so that my $3.00 co-pay today will not be for naught, because it could be the first co-pay of many in 2007 for some other kind of medicines, you know, maybe (cough) heart medicine, I mean, I’m just guessing, since I could go to Lourdes and get cured of everything, including my chin hairs, which is what I’m hoping since I hate that co-pay, which I never had to pay before Bush stuck his nosy ass nose into Medicare last year and fucked everything up for poor people, so now I have to pay co-payments for medications I probably don’t need, from doctors who may not know what they’re doing, but since I’m afraid to fly, I probably won’t be going to Lourdes, so I’ll probably be paying for lots of co-pays, especially since I’m getting really elderly and having pseudo-fake kinda sorta heart attack chest pains and I don’t really know if they’re heart related or stress related or mental health related or muscle-strain related or stomach-acid related or what the hell they are, because I haven’t seen a real cardiologist yet and wouldn’t it funny if there was nothing wrong except that I had a particularly large deposit of non-pereil white dots lodged up under my ribs, which caused me a great deal of pain everytime the planets lined up in a certain configuration or Guardcat played “Lets Jump on The Fat Girl” in the middle of the night...I guess I won’t know until I see a “Real” Doctor. Sigh.

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Lyrics by Lennon/McCartney. All angst copyright by awittykitty