Mentally. Physically. Slow. Mucusy. Bleh. I strongly suspect if you upended a salt shaker on me I would dissolve before your very eyes.
Fortunately, today is slow at work. I have finished all my dictations, chart reviews, and reviewed the results from previously ordered expensive tests. My desk is clear and as I do not have the mental where-with-all to deal with the pile of journals on top of the file cabinet of the Bat Cave, I am left with inflicting my whiny self on you. If I were you, I would cough into my hand and back out of the room with some flimsy excuse. This is not worth reading. It is barely worth writing and when I am done, will be faced with solitaire unless a patient mistakenly drifts in through the door along with the slush.
It has been doing the sloppy winter weather thing here. Freezing rain, sleet, brief bits of wet snow. All of the surrounding schools releasing early except Freeport. Once again Charles misses out. Patients are staying away in droves this afternoon. Lots of standing water that will become standing ice when the sun dips. Lots of salt on the roads. Guess I'd better be careful slopping out to the car tonight. Hate to slip, fall and dissolve in a pool of salty slush. Tres embarrassing.
Colin is finally better, having developed hives from his influenza drug. Sara got worse and is now doing the persistent fevers but seems fine as long as we dope her up with kiddie Motrin. Not to be outdone by her brother, she too developed hives. Yeah team.
Ah, I see some poor souls are braving the muck and are coming in to clinic. Heh. Pity them.
I told you; you should have fled. You have no one to blame but yourself.
Snort. Snort. Snuffle. Ooze.
Labels: Whining to a Captive Audience