gary and melissa loved to make love

i met with the neurologist today. i am so tired of fucking students trailing the doctors- some privacy, please? or at least some modicum of a pleasant bedside manner? she was an unsmiling cunt. i hope she fails medical school.
the doctor showed me my latest MRI in comparison with the one taken 17 months ago. the initial splotches of inflammation are still there, joined by some other pea-sized random blips across my brain. it is like looking at cells at work, seeing what is normal and what is not, how even the abnormal is strikingly beautiful because it indicates proof. he didn't seem too concerned with any of it. he did, as i anticipated, urge me to start medication. "it's your brain, after all" he said. he described the weekly injection i would give myself, an "immuno-modifier", and how it could cause "flu-like" symptoms that "normally go away in a few months", and i said "i don't want to resign myself to that and admit that i have an issue that needs continuous treatment," all the while thinking that, miserable as the relapses are, 2 in a year and a half is not that horrid a frequency, and at least i know that what i experience now is ME, not some fucking pharmaceutical side-effect. i wish he'd offer me medical marijuana instead.
my third and final steroid infusion was today. i had my own room, a television with a remote, and two hours flipping between 'roseanne' and the food network. i had forgotten how fucking vapid the food network is. i was thinking especially rude things about sandra lee.
afterwards: i found out i got the fucking job at the local ER. i had my working interview there on friday, the day my symptoms began in earnest, and i was not on the proverbial ball whatsoever. i hit the veins, did everything well, but mentally i was not as... lively as i could have been. but apparently i made a good enough impression. "everyone really liked you and think you'd be a great addition to our team" the HR woman wrote me in an email. that fucking made my day. the caveatL the schedule sucks. but it is open to fluctuation- this is an incredibly mecurial field. she is allowing me a few days to mull it over.
it is nice to know i don't suck too badly.
it is even nicer to know that i can muster competence even with my brain covered with plaque.
and i can move a bit more of my face today.
the little things matter the most. i actually feel really fucking optimistic right now- and it may be the 'roids talking, but i also feel a hell of a lot less vulnerable than i did a few days ago.
i have always hated the soft-porn tittiness of that giada chick from the aforementioned food network, but she made something today that sounded pretty damn good, and those who can eat dairy should try this to, i don't know, impress the ladies.
i leave you with:
saute some diced onions and carrots and, i don't know, celery, in olive oil. add a package of frozen-defrosted-drained spinach and some sliced roma tomatoes. (i'm thinking mushrooms too. everything is better with mushrooms.) mix. it is pretty. in another bowl mix a container (whatever size- 8 oz?) of marscapone cheese, 1/4c grated parmiagno-reggiano, salt, pepper, and i can't remember if there was anything else, but methinks some toasted pine nuts would kick fucking ass. mix the cheese-gloop and add half the sauteed vegetable olio to it. then! you have this cute stack of pancakes- i think that would sort of suck, why not tortillas? like, ooh, those spinach or sundried tomato or rosemary ones? oh my god that would be fucking delicious! so screw the pancakes, do the tortillas. put a bit of the filling in each tortilla, or tortilla-scrap, top with mozarella, and roll them up. place them in a buttered baking dish. puree the rest of the vegetable medley and pour over the top. smother with more parmesan. add more mozzarella too. would smoked gouda be too much here? perhaps in lieu of the mozarella? fuck, i miss cheese. apparently.
bake at 350 or so for 35 minutes? or 25 minutes? i was probably flipping back to roseanne at that point. anyway, keep an eye on it.
vicarious cheese. i am sick.