Appearing perpetually surprised, she stares at me with those wonderful, insightful, owlish eyes of hers. She's appraising me - her ability to sift through my whiny bullshit bordering on the uncanny. She's already had one of her minions put me through a series of weird tests at one point having me hoist a leg in the air while patting my head and rubbing my tummy.
My doctor (yet to be 'blog' named) is sitting on a wheeled stool looking up at me, having just finished typing in some book about what a wreck I am. I'm watching her mentally shift from diagnosis to treatment while I'm trying to paint a Rembrandt with my left foot (why is it harder to have my left foot raised? I'm both intrigued and humiliated by this shortcoming).
I had been spewing some idiosyncratic stream of consciousness babble since she entered the room with minion in tow. Yakking about the latest Sonchai Jitpleecheep detective novel I'm reading to how work has me in this diet program where I've managed to put on eight pounds since starting it.
She blinks and says, "We're going to start encouraging each other to exercise through email. Daily."
Dr.'s orders.
PS: I will attempt this - I am capable of boring the bejeezus out of anyone using email as my 'idiom.' but I'm behaving like, well any male I guess when it comes to commitment issues, like keeping this blog up to date, getting into the gym consistantly, etc. We'll see
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