I use to expect a lot from my weekends overlooking the fact that it’s just two days and I couldn’t quite possibly cram my whole life into two measly days. So it use to be on Sunday nights I’d be hot and bothered like a dissatisfied lover. The good thing about growing up is that you grow into realistic prospects, in that I don’t wake up Friday mornings thinking I could be a supermodel by noon on Saturday anymore.

And then there’s my Dr.’s office! They are fucking unbelievable! They’re either sadists or have very lousy bedside manners. At my check-up month ago they said they weren’t going to call me if “everything was ok”. Then I get a call one Saturday to come in as soon as possible, which would mean everything isn’t ok right? I spent the rest of the weekend totally deflated, thinking I was dying. I mean why else would they call me on a weekend? It had to be very important!

After two sleepless nights, I go in and I’m told that I have a trait of a rare genetic blood disorder… sounds scary but really it’s not. It’s not like I’d die if I don’t get immediate attention, in fact there’s no cure and it’s not like I need to be on medication or anything. The worse that could happen is mild anaemia! Albeit it’s very important I know, it’s not that important to be called on a Saturday afternoon and have me think I’m on life’s last lap.

Oh but that’s not all. Last Thursday, at 8pm I get yet another call to come in and see the Dr. about my “test results”. So it’s got to be serious for them to call me that late at night right? I mean so serious that as soon as they got the results they had to call me right then and there ‘cos who knows what might happen to me if they leave it till morning. Come noontime Friday, I’m frazzled and jittery from all the worry. I walk from downtown all the way to Yaletown! Ok so many it’s not exactly a trek but where I’m from the only place I could voluntarily walk to, was the mailbox. I get there and girl-at-reception goes “oh you came! I left you a message, the Dr.’s teaching this afternoon. Would you like to make another appointment?” I kid thee not! So I stumped, I screamed, I jumped, threw a tantrum but girl-at-reception was as helpful as those assemble diagrams that come with your Ikea purchases.

I make another appointment for later in the day with different dr. because I couldn’t bear to go through the weekend not knowing what was wrong with me. This dr. flips through my records for 5 seconds, my Pap smear results came back, they found mild…. I need to come back in SIX MONTHS for another one! Oh? Does that mean I have cervix cancer?

He said no, nowhere near that… so why the fuck did they call me in the middle of the night to come in like I’d contracted Ebola? No answer (maybe because I didn’t really ask him that)

That’s it! I need a new doctor… I’m done with these emotional terrorists!

PLAYING: Time stand still – All-American rejects

READING: Hey, Nostradamus! – Douglas Coupland

WATCHING: Everwood

QUOTE: “The days they turn into years, the eyes they drown in tears”