I'M IN A GLASS CASE OF EMOTION!

I am barely hanging in there. After a solid month of dealing with hospitals, doctors, $$$, insurance, phone calls, stupidity, frustration and blahdeeblahblah – all of this quite soberly with the end result of surgery tomorrow at 5am, my brain wants to explode but I'm trying to gently sweet talk it by serenading it softly with 'it'll all be okay soon.' Rather unfortunately, my mom has been extra testy about the whole ordeal, which I can understand her frustration (as it coincides with mine – and when any two frustrations collide they can headbutt each other...) but it doesn't, nor hasn't made this entire debacle any easier; everything has been turning into an argument when really, neither person is at fault, it's this failed system of 'ring around the rosey' healthcare that is tying our horns together.
While I've been busting ass already at a new job which involves waking up at 5:15 to catch two buses from 6am-7am, let's take today into account: after working 7:30am to 2:45pm straight with no breaks (I don't smoke anymore, so no excuse for any when you're working in a kitchen...) I walked a mile to the ortho for a pre-appointment, then a mile to the bus stop in 95 degrees of murderous heat, sweating like a gypsy.
I have tried my damndest to not show how tired, exhausted, and confused I have felt... and does it put me a little on edge? You betcha. But then the broken record gets stuck into a 'this is all your responsibility' loop … in terms of everything dealing with the leg, which I know, and have been trying to take care of everything, all the millions things my boggled head must remember to do, but doctors and secretaries (and the allotted ridiculous 8am to 4:30pm time slot to speak with them, proving difficult in these days of non-stop movement) make it all into a horrid ring-around of a circus.
And guess what? Even then, on the phone, and in person, they FAIL to tell you important little tidbits, which my mom thinks of being a nurse, but then yells at me for not asking them these questions, when they would have never arose in my head (or just CAN'T because it's already too confused and there's no room for them to float up and out of my mouth!) - and the doctors don't even GIVE you moments to ASK anything. They pop in, say a paragraph (or not even,) then leave. You're kind of always left there with your mouth hanging open like, 'Did I get all the info I needed or am I forgetting something?' Like you pack your bags for a trip, stop to think, then get all the way to your destination to realize you forgot your underwear. (Although, if that happened to me, I would punch myself in the face.)
So. Here we go. Hopefully the final segment is eight hours away. Funny thing is, while I wasn't trying to be too nervous about my first real surgery... after all this, now I'm worried my stress levels are going to further complicate the process tomorrow......... I'm really hoping that's proved false.

Yarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.


Luckily due to all the non-excitement existing in my life at the moment, I've been having fascinating dreams, last night's being showcased as the best thus far: making out with Jon Stewart and Stephen Colbert. HUBBA-HUBBA. But as the downside (for my dreams produced nightly have an ultimate high point, and an ult. low,) after my make-outs, dressed scantily clad in a skin tight hot pink mini dress and high heels, I had to run for my life from a disgustingly foul Ron Jeremy-like cretin. I'd tell the night before lasts, but it's just toooo Rated NC-17. (It's what dreams are made of when you're asexual!)