Because It's Better To Be Irrational With Me Than Rational With Someone Else

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Ah! The Irony, A Chemist Whose Body Is Allergic To Chemicals

I walk through the empty Saturday halls of the teaching building. I blast my music in the teaching lab; hot plates on; solutions stirring and heating. I set up more beakers when Stan walks in stealthily. He pushes me gently against the lab bench; a beaker falls. I bend down to pick up the pieces; I turn around just in time to see Stan remove his clothes in one smooth move. D�j� vu, anyone? And then, right there on the filthiest of the filthy lab floors, the most beautiful act happens.

I woke up in the hospital. Second day in the hospital and Stan hasn't even texted me. Couple things I learned here:
1/ Health care people are pushy and it might have nothing to do with the new bill. Last week on St. Patrick's day I saw my hot neurologist and immediately he demanded I do MRI and CT scans and lumbar puncture. I figured this can wait until my orals are done. Ah, how na�ve of me! The hospital called and said AS SOON AS POSSIBLE they have orders to commit me. What?! So, here I am.
2/ you complain, you threaten to sue, you ask tons of nonsensical questions with no answers, and they upgrade your ass to shut you up. Internet complimentary. I told those doctor asses I have a deadly allergy to medications. I told them that I cannot have MRI done with contrast, I'm allergic to the dye. And what do they do? They inject me with a dye and leave me without supervision� while inside the machine I started feeling the results of the allergy; choking, I press on the buttons to alert someONE to help me, I choke and bang and on the machine, I try to get out� I pass out. Now my skin is all in blisters, and I have to stay here a tad bit longer. At least I got all the jello I can muster.
3/ The mother of them all: if you love, leave them, if they come back, they love you too. I am done with Stan. I love him like no other. But he knew, he knew I am scared shitless of hospitals, he knew that I had panic attacks because I am afraid I will die this weekend� if not from the doctors' fuck ups, then just from the sheer fact that my results are most likely bad. And yet, no text, no call. No anything. It's as if� it was a normal Saturday. Normal Sunday.
It's cool. I'll continue loving him. It's cool if he plays the game but doesn't decide to commit. It's cool. I'll find a better one. If I get out of here that is.

1:16 a.m. - March 29, 2010

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