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Here I am in my dorm. Very hot, there's no air conditioning. It's Boston, but September is the worst dorm month because I'm sweating. I've half unpacked, and won't finish unpacking for another couple of weeks. Lazy.
I have to go to the doctor. The doctor wants to do blood tests because I have high blood pressure. I've told him I'm just nuts and I've been treated for anxiety disorder. I've tried to explain to him that the benefits from having blood work done are far outweighed by the anxiety it causes me to know I may have some horrible disease. He doesn't seem to get it. Must find diseases at all costs. When I told him I'd just kill myself if something went wrong, he suggested the mental health clinic. I told him been there, done that.
He wants me to lose weight. He goes to this chart which shows I'm slightly in the overweight range. The chart doesn't account for the fact that I'm much more muscular than average for my height. I mean, I'd like to lose weight, but doing so would give me washboard abs. I hate this pudge though. I'm such a fatty.
My next-door dormmate is an African American. He's about 6 inches shorter but I bet his cock is 6 inches longer. A few doors down there's the Asian hottie. I need to start leaving my door open and making loud slurping sounds with noodles to attract her.
I'm thinking about buying a bottle of sherry to drink before I go to the doctor. It freaks me out so much. Damn this shit, he should just leave me alone. If he gives me shit today I'll tell him to fuck off. Just let me take some medicine for it. I KNOW i eat too much sodium. I don't CARE if I die, I just don't want to know I'm dying, OK buddy, is it that difficult to understand?
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