Only for the Brave

I'm sitting here reading other blogs and think, hey, maybe I should put up a post. The only problem is, I've been having this problem lately where my thoughts are swimming in my head and I can't quite get them organized enough to put them down. Maybe I'm going crazy. Maybe I'm getting lazy. I'm not sure where to go with this thing. I know no one is reading, and I actually take some comfort in that. I can write about whatever I want and no one is going to know about it. But I have friends that want to know my address so they can check it out. They are good friends. They are supporting the things I do. But then I worry that they might finally realize exactly how crazy I am and call the authorities. Then I'd be in a world of trouble. It seems like this should be just like confession, where you can say what really happens and you don't have to worry about it coming back to you later. Anyway...
Tomorrow I have to go to the girly doctor. I hate this doctor. The last time I saw this doctor, he said, " You really don't like this, do you?" And all I could think was, "Who would?" Contrary to popular belief, most women do not enjoy have metal things stuck into them by people they hardly know. And I, for one, am particularly wary of answering any questions about my bodily functions or 'relations' with these people. I'm always a little concerned that they'll say, uh-oh, just as I suspected, and I'll wake up in the county sanitorium. And they always seem to have some extra procedure they have to do, just to make sure that you're normal. The first twenty minutes of hell wasn't enough. These people are sadistic. I flinch when they touch me and they act surprised. As if I should be used to it. This is the appointment I've been dreading for 3 weeks. Ick.