I came back to the Valley of Opportunity / Triple-Cities / "Greater Binghamton" for the weekend to be poked and prodded by all the medical people I will no longer be able to visit for free once I'm booted off my parent's insurance. I'm really not looking forward to Monday's visit as there's been subtle hints abound about the "glove test" which I feel has something to do with my family's history of defunct colons, but I guess there's no use fretting over the inevitable. My doctor's thumb in the ass today to ward of 20 thumbs and machines in the ass tomorrow is something I'll just have to deal with. I always hated getting physicals, especially in Elementary school. Our district's doctor's name was Dr. Piller. He always had a five o'clock shadow and uncombed hair, and the site of him alone passing in the hallway was enough to give me the chills. He never told me to turn my head, I had my own doctor to do this, but kids would line up twenty deep and go one by one into his little office coming out buckling their belts. Freaked me the hell out.

Waking up with your brain sloshing around skull and recalling the fucked up shit you did and said the night before is bad enough. Waking up in a pile of rubbish on your floor unable to recall what happened during the two hours that followed your drunk ass taking a nose dive through your gracious host’s CD collection and nearly putting your head through her window while naked feels much, much worse. I do remember having a fantastic time prior to my spectacular party foul, though I cannot attest to how the evening concluded. As I have a history of doing so, I apologize if I did or said anything that may have left a shit stain on an otherwise fantastic evening.