Yesterday I had to go to an ear, nose, and throat doctor. While getting a Cat-Scan of my head because of my recent migraines they found a cyst in my sinuses. We waited for over an hour and when the doctor came in I knew it was not going to be a fun time. He acted nervous, like he didn't know what he was doing. Everytime he had to leave the room he needed a verbal "ok" from me to do so. He instantly irritated and his hands were shaky. I told him to calm down or he wasn't touching me and therefore not getting paid. Even more irritating was my mother who made him more nervous. I told her that if she couldn't just act like a normal human being I would shove the scope in her ear and scrape out any of her brain that might be left. That little comment made it a quiet drive home. Already knowing he wouldn't operate to remove it he still shot numbing liquid up my nose and before it could work he used a long, cold, metal scope and shoved it painfully in my nose. Only afterwards did my mother tell me that her mother had something similar done and her sinuses where never the same. If there wasn't a man walking behind us I would have strangled her and then run her over with the car and drove myself home.
Then last night I mentioned to my sister that I craved a good read. She recommended a book she already possesed titled The Invisible Man. It seemed good enough, with my sisters summary and the reviews I thought it would be this excellent portrait of racial discrimination in America. I only got to about the fifth page. It was so bland, boring, and predictable I almost fell alseep. I hate bigotry of any kind and I love literature that believes the same. I was so disappointed by this book, I came to the conclusion that the author and critics who acclaimed it should all fuck themselves until they have a stroke. Lucky enough for me I found something worth reading.
