I went out on this date yesterday. Actually it was a non-date, an unofficial date, a test date if you will - with this pretty amazing artist that I'm fond of. As I sat across the table from him, my mind blank, my energy low, highly distracted and despondent - I thought to myself "What the fuck is going on with me?" I figured it was part of my bad habit of finding a way to mess up a situation, any situation - give me a fireproof mansion and it'll be burned to the ground in under 10 minutes, that's my accidental motto. It took me two glasses of wine, an entire subway ride home, a conversation with my sister and a hug from my next door neighbor to realize why I was the most uninteresting person on earth last night: blood.
I'll explain: I went to the doctor on Tuesday, a specialist, and he told me that he's gotta have surgery to remove a growth so he can see if I have cancer. He's planning on slicing me like a melon, taking off this bump or whatever, pouring it in acid, putting it under a microscope and discover if I'm rotting on the inside. To be totally honest for a moment - when he told me I nearly cried (how's that gonna be if I'm HIV positive and Cancerous at 27? My sister says that if this turns out to be the case I should write a book) but I didn't cry. The only thing I have more pride in than the honesty in which I feel emotions is the discipline I've cultivated by which I express them. Anyway, I'm getting off topic. So on Wednesday I go to my normal doctor, this old man who I adore, and he tells me not to worry too much and then harasses me about why I don't have a boyfriend. Same old same old. BUT then he proceeds to take an insane amount of blood out of my system for viral load, cd4 count, liver tests the normal stuff, but then tons more for the surgery prep.
And then I go back to work, and go on this date - and I'm all lackluster and can't concentrate and don't know what to say or do. And it's blood! I was just exhausted from the blood-letting. And I was pretty happy to have this realization, cause it means I'm not a totally horrible person to spend time with.
The moral of my story is this: When going out on a hot date, be sure you have enough blood in your system....
Okay, I guess that's it. My valiant effort to not write about how terrified I am of something by telling a round-a-bout, non-conclusive, lame story about something unrelated. It's the just the way I do my business. I'm actually not telling anyone about the surgery - just my roommate who's picking me up from the hospital and my two sisters - and I've sworn them to secrecy. I'm nervous that if the info gets out, people will get worried and talk to me about it and I'll get even more terrified. I figure no one I know reads this blog so I'm safe. But if I'm wrong and you do know me. Well, I suppose, just don't bring it up. Talk to me about something completely unrelated. I need to get my mind off of my worries...It's probably nothing anyway. It's probably nothing.