What's up, doc...

Ok, so tomorrow I finally get to see the doc.

I’ve had some weird goings on lately that have left me with the nagging impression that either something’s wrong with my noggin, or I’m about to start receiving transmissions from the mothership... Now I’m not really against the latter... there are quite a few questions I’d like answered, and if I’m cooperating enough to receive transmissions, then they probably won’t feel the need to invoke “the probe.” And of course, to be able to communicate with the forces that gave us ET, the pyramids, and Tom Cruise, well that would be kinda neat. But if it’s not an otherworldly presence making mischief in my medulla oblongata, then we’ve some more pressing things to ponder (provided of course, that said pondering doesn’t do anything to exacerbate said mischief with the aforementioned oblongata).

Now, before you start planning the farewell party (is Menudo available?), please, please, PLEASE understand something here...

I’m being INCREDIBLY melodramatic right now...

I’m fine... In fact, I’m better than fine... Aside from a few extra pounds and a budding sunroof on the top of my formerly fuzzy cranium, I’ve got very little to complain about. But still, I’m of the general opinion that one shouldn’t see more than one copy of anything unless you’re staring at the Olsen twins or downing tequila shots like they’re a jumbo bag of out-of-date M&Ms bought three weeks after Halloween... add in a few dizzy spells, headaches, and a propensity to stare longingly at pictures of David Hasslehoff, and you can start to understand why I might be a little concerned...

So I’m going to the doc.

It could be something simple. It could be something not so simple. It could simply be that it’s summer cold and flu season, and I’m too much of a wuss to handle a few thousand bacteria shacking up and throwing a mucus party in my upper nasal cavities... who knows... whatever the case, I’m going to see the doc... and not just some run-of-the-mill, put my diploma from Joe’s Community College on the wall doc either... No, no, no... I’m going to the special doc... the kind of doc that gets to be condescending to you and act like he possesses the secrets of the Holy Grail simply because he went to college for a few extra classes and learned the definition of “benzodiazepines” ...you know, the kind that you need to pay the EXTRA co-pay for...

Well anyway, he’s most likely going to look at my head, shine lights in my eyeballs and make bad jokes about not seeing anything inside... and if past history holds true, he’ll prod me with all sorts of implements that one would never find existing naturally (outside of a doctor’s office or a well-stocked S&M “exploration” facility).

Then he’ll tell me that I’ve been eating pizza when I should have been stocking up on kale and iguana root, or he’ll tell me I’ve been putting my contacts in the wrong eyes (that’s certainly something I would do), or he’ll give me some magic pill that I’ll kindly thank him for and dutifully pop in my mouth (without questioning the ramifications of what it does or how it might affect my bowel movements)... and once again all will be right with the world.

Yes... that is most likely exactly what’s going to happen when I go see the doc.

But for now... if you happen to come across a strange man standing in an open field with his arms stretched wide and a roll of tinfoil wrapped about his head and torso... please don’t think there’s anything wrong...

I’ll just be trying to get better reception.