23 hours at the comedy club this weekend, classes began on Wednesday, and radio work was busy as the industry prepares for Rock-tober. All I want to do right now is sleep, and cry. I am verry worried about my foot. I hyper-extended my left foot in May and it is bothering me quite badly. I went to the health center in June. The x-rays revealed no fractures or chips. I apparently just bruised the ball of my foot, which now hurts 85% of the day. I get upset when I think about it. It's a mixture of fear and confusion.
I don't have health insurance so I can't afford to see and orthopedist, the best I get is Ibuprofen and the student health center. And so I cry. Because all I want is to see a doctor. I want to know what is wrong with my foot. I want to continue to live an active, happy life. I want my dad to know how upset I am with him for failing to provide health insurance on a regular basis. I want ReFuel America to know how their pitiful and unsuccessful attempt at distributing biodiesel has effected my father, and me. I want "President" Bush to know that the health care system in the Land of the Free is fucked. I want my wisdom teeth out. I want to see the neurologist for my annual check up. I want to see my psychiatrist.
I guess I want too much.
So, rather, I listen to Una and read Emerson's poetry for class in the morning.