Impending doom is getting me down. Tomorrow I am scheduled for my first laser treatment at the "hospital" that botched my appendectomy 27 years ago. I can't tell you how distressed I am to have to step back into that filthy abattoir for ANY procedure. These are the sons-of-bitches that let my appendix rupture in my body over Christmas vacation--even helping the process along with an enema--in 1976. That was about as much fun as being gored by a bull. I stayed in a month and left with a huge disfiguring scar that embarrassed me so much I couldn't take off my pants in front of a woman until I was 26. We incurred a huge debt--my chickenshit father was afraid to sue the "hospital" for malpractice lest it interfere with his failed political aspirations--so we had to endure collection agencies calling at 11:00 at night until we finally went bankrupt. I have to go back to that butcher shop?

When Sue called the doctor to set up the surgery, the receptionist heard me swear when I heard where it was taking place, and was "terrorized." Please! I'M the one shitting my pants right now! I have to be there in less than five hours to check in for the treatment--and we just had our first major snowstorm of the season. So I have to go across town to St. Lizzie Borden's through six to eight inches of slop just to give those assassins another crack at me. Balls!!