My alarm clock went off at an ungodly 8:00am. I haven't been up this early in two weeks. Then the phone rang just as I was stepping into the shower.
"I hope you're up and at 'em," my father said. "It's shot day!"
I mumbled almost incoherently that I was getting ready to leave the house.
I towelled off and put on some clean clothes. I then awakened one of my dormant computers to check the weather -- another beautiful day in the South with just a 30% chance of thundershowers.
I think every policeman in the Valley got behind me on my drive to the pharmacy. I quickly buckled up as soon as the first policeman began tailing me. I kept telling myself if it was me they were after then they would just pull me over. The police don't play games. Still, it piqued my paranoid schizophrenic nature.
Rebecca was as congenial as ever. We talked of her daughter and her daughter's softball games.
"Tonight is the first game," Rebecca told me excitedly.
"You have a deft touch with those needles," I told her. "I didn't even feel today's injection."
I quickly hightailed it out of my doctor's office and headed back to my father at the pharmacy ever eager to get home. I handed him the next appointment card and got on the road back to my house.
I felt comforted getting my injection. You wouldn't want to know me without it and I bet it would come out in my writings as well. That'll keep the crazies away for another two weeks with the help of my nightly medications as well.
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