yodeling afflictions Juniper is starting to reach out and grab her toys. Yesterday I sat her on her back in her play gym- one of those ones where bunches of stuffed jungle animals dangle in the kid's face like plush, multi-colored suicides (where did that come from?. Anyway, she spent like half an hour batting and pinching the little creatures, and telling them about her day in her little baby dialect. I don't know if she was enjoying herself or just telling them to get the fuck out of her face, but she seemed happy enough. My baby is so amazing. I have just HAD it with these goddamn hemorrhoids. I called the doctor's office ("Medic! Cure my ass!") and asked the nurse if it would be worthwhile to come in, if there was anything the doctor could do for me. I don't have insurance anymore, you understand, so I had to pay for this little ordeal out of my pathetic little pocket. The nurse said that it would be "entirely appropriate" for me to come in, that there were several things that the doctor could do. Apparently, these things involved sticking a little glass tube up my butt until I screamed and then sending me away, telling me to buy some Anusol, which I did and I can't even think about it without making fun of myself, but that otherwise I was doing all the right things and that they should go away within a few months. But it hurts, it hurts, I gave birth without drugs and so I KNOW pain and THIS IS IT. Are they just jacking me around because I used to have a drug problem like 4 1/2 fucking years ago and so now they are worried that I would abuse the prescription-strength butt cream? I don't know. Maybe I could go back to the acupuncturist (there have to be a few pressure points that channel the butt energy, right?). She sure helped me with my depression after my first monkey died, but it is a far cry from depression to hemorrhoids. Okay, so now I am imagining Depression standing on one lonesome mountain peak, calling across a great rift to Mr. Hemorrhoids, and ugly fellow, on another faraway mountain peak... a far cry. Where did that phrase originate? The Swiss Alps? Bad brain. I'd better do some housework or Spouse Monster is going to get cranky.
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