No Earl Grey, No Cervical Access 

Im sitting waiting in our rural Doctors surgery for my triannual invasion of privacy, albeit totally for the best.  I sit amidst old ladies with their old gents and a variety of mums with their unilaterally wailing offspring.  Today I woke up late for this appointment and so am wearing mismatched clothing and have wet unbrushed hair.  To say I stick out here would be putting it mildly  I guess, though for me, cradling my ‘central perk’ travel mug filled with steaming earl grey, this is not one of the things I currently care about.  Neither is the oncoming nudity with a stranger or the part where the stranger inserts into my vagina that thing that looks like it could grab stuff off high shelves for old people or the toddlers paintbrush apparatus they use to harvest my cellular matter.  I am however deeply concerned by the new chip I have just noticed in the rim of my travel mug… causing it to leak.  This is truly a bit of a rum do.  My dear faithful travel mug, my tea filled amigo, my consigliere… my poor fallen brother.  “Alas poor travel mug, I knew him well”…that’s what the line is right?  I’m being overly dramatic sure, and it’s possible I’m funnelling my unruly emotions into this one problem to avoid the anxiety of others, but I think it’s for the best. Don’t you? I mean hell! It works for me, it’s my way now.  This is my life now/currently; emotional displacement, light anxiety, a certain amount of cloudy humour and earl grey, always earl grey, saviour of all things. 

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