How Many Rashes Can YOU Say You've Had in the Last Year?

You know how you get to that point where you're just done? Like, you're just mentally kaput? Yeah. And then you find that one thing that's funny. It's really not appropriate to laugh at, but you just can't help yourself because you're so out of your mind? Well. I'm there in that place, and I found my inappropriate thing to laugh at.

See, it's been kind of a rough last twenty-four hours, and in the last little bit of this particular evening, the only thing that has caused me to laugh is someone getting [indirectly] hit by lightning. It's not the electric shock itself that has me cracking up, but a detail of it. I know; I'm horrible. But anyway. My sister's boyfriend is Gene, whom I've written about before. I love him. I think he's awesome, but I can't stop giggling at unfortunate incident that he was a victim of earlier in the week. As told to me by Arielle, Gene was apparently driving his FedEx truck in a thunderstorm on Tuesday, and it got struck by lightning. (I'm giggling right now - I can't help myself). Ari said that he's alright - just couldn't hear very well for about a day and had a sore throat from letting out a big girlie scream. It's that last part that gets me - the scream. Understand that Gene is a big handsome Alabama country boy. He has a deep voice with a thick Southern country twang. Knowing that and picturing him screaming in his truck while getting, as Dave Chappelle might say, "ZAPPED," well, it's just too much.

Now, so you guys don't think I'm a complete asshole, I'm pretty sure I had a panic attack earlier in the day, and further, I'm on about my fourth or fifth stress rash since Joe's been gone. Additionally, I've had a headache for 24 hours straight and neck pain that I only get because of tension. I'm completely out of my mind - any little bump in the road now with Army stuff (or even just the idea of a bump) provokes a meltdown. I cried in front of my mother-in-law yesterday, and that's just not something I do. Every thing's just really freaking me out. I'm scared of right now - what will happen next week - and what getting to a permanent duty station will actually be like. I'm scared that I'll never have enough time with Joe ever and that he'll never want to/be able to do something nice and special for me. A lot of that latter fear seems to currently be stemming from the fact that Joe said he'd to marry me on the day that Oma died - like, on the phone while I was at the hospital right outside the room where we got the bad news. Romantic engagement, right? That's why none of you have heard that until now. I figure instead of saying that in therapy, I'll go ahead and say it here. I really, REALLY need to buy a dog.

But anyway. Thanks to crispy Gene, I've had a laugh this evening.

Oh. I guess I'll update you guys real quick on my return to the dentist today before I finish this post: When I got there I checked in, and and there didn't seem to be an appointment in the computer. I knew it was today - I could see the card in my mind, plus the doc who did this thing is only there on Fridays, and it was to be one week from the last appointment. So anyway. I finally got called back after waiting briefly. There were no wrestling moves or anything of the nature - just sort of your standard cluster fuck. The same 'slightly off' hygienist attended to me - providing both upper and lower night guards. Well, the dentist only wanted me to have lower, and the hygienist didn't notice a big damn bubble in the middle of the lower. They ended up both disappearing to cut the bubble out, leaving me fully reclined and kind of pissed. Check the shit before I get there - and plug your appts into the computer so you know I'm going to be there. Whatever. Someone else finally showed me how to turn the flat screen TV on, as I'd been trying to but gave up, so I watched a little Carter Can on HGTV. Then Mom called, so I talked to her while I watched TV laying down. Not bad I guess. Finally the doc appeared over me, and I hung up on Mom. He handed me the lower, and I put it in. It fit. That's it. I'm done. I was there for a fucking hour for that shit. And the bill was $250 for a piece of glorified plastic, part of which got cut out. I think my insurance is going to pay the whole deal (per my manual), but I had to pay half up front. Fucking fuck. Anyway. After I got home, I checked my appointment card. Yep, August 1st at 2:00pm...but wait...2002. The crazy hygienist had written 2002 - plain and clear - that last 2 was no 8. And so, the reason they didn't realize I'd be there today is because they were expecting me 6 years ago.