Day off Monday

Fuck! How hot is is? Day off work, nice. Always nice.

But, of course, I went for my gastroscopy. Can't have a day off just because. Oh no, that would never do.

I walked to the clinic. I left early, so I stopped in the Fitzroy Gardens just to enjoy the morning. There were lots of people around, doing much more worth while things than the 9 to 5 gig. Drinking coffee and having breakfast. Reading under the shade of the trees. Running their dogs, riding their bikes. Just walking and enjoying the sun.

The clinic has terrible signage and, of course, I didn't take any paperwork with me. Well, it was Jolimont Road, which is about as long as a tidily weenie. Where the fuck was it? Tick, tick, tick, to my appointment, as I walked up and down. I couldn't find it. After sitting so luxuriously in the Fitzroy Gardens and all, de-stressing, I started to stress. Finally, I saw what looked like a career secretary, out having a fag, who whirled me around and pointed me in the right direction pronto, with a, "Yeah luv, right over there." Long fake fingernailed fingers indicating across the road.

The staff were all so nice. I felt nothing, as the actress said to the bishop. The last thing I remember was, "You'll just feel an overwhelming sense of relaxation."

"My friends say I'm overwhelmingly relaxed now."

"Well, you shouldn't be needing this procedure then..."

I was completely out to it. Felt nothing, knew less.

Then is was, "Christian, Christian, are you okay to get to your feet?"

They gave me a cup of tea and a biscuit, like the blood bank and made me wait for a while, propped up in a Jason Recliner, with a rug. I wanted to tell them I'd driven more out of it after dance parties, but they made me wait for my ride, before I could leave the building.

"Every things okay," said the Doc. "No ulcer." But they did take biopsies. I wondered why, but I was a bit too scattered to question him.

Apparently, I have oesophagitis, reading the paperwork they gave me, when I got home. Whatever that is?