5:14 a.m. Saturday, June 13, 2015
I couldn’t sleep at all last night, I really think I have insomnia because I’ve been waking up a lot at night, and it’s been very hard to sleep, and let me tell you that when I can’t fall asleep, I wake up with very dark rings under my eyes, and dark rings do not help my complection at all. I also think I have OCD, because when I see something that isn’t perfect, I feel the need to fix it. And I am pretty sure I have a cyclothymic disorder because I haven’t been interested that much in my daily shows. Well, Seth Macfarlane has gone downhill after that horrible “A Million Ways to Die in the West” thing he calls a movie. I mean Neil Patrick Harris makes Adam Sandler look good.
Anyway, last week I went to the doctor because I thought I had diabetes, and Dr. Bowmann said, “You have been coming to me at least twice a month saying that you think you have a certain disease or virus, and I either think you have hypochondria or you have a crush on me.” He chuckled. I made the most insulting disgusted-like face I could make. And after that brief, annoying sentence he said that I had hypochondria. He explained the meaning, and I realized that I did have it.
He said I should see a therapist and gave me this supposedly “great” therapist’s number and address.
After that, I went home and had my daily macchiato and chocolate chip cookies that I found at Whole Foods — they’re gluten-free and I KNOW gluten-free is really terrible, but these are just the best cookies I ever had. They melt in your mouth and they’re so crunchy. But I’ve only started eating them since Mindy and Danny broke up on The Mindy Project. It left me looking like an addict who hasn’t had a smoke in a week.
For the past three months, I’ve gone on a gluten-free diet because I’m worried that I will get Celiac’s Disease. No matter what, I will always be against gluten-free foods. I think it is the stupidest thing I have ever encountered. Whenever you try to make something that is gluten-free, it ends up tasting like what the inside of a pelican’s mouth looks like.
After my macchiato, I called the number of the therapist. The person who answered had a weird accent that I disliked very strongly.
He said, “Howdy, friend. What’cha needin’?”
I asked him if he was a therapist, trying hard not to seem disgusted.
He said, “Reckon’ I am! Jeremiah Alabaster Mackelroy is the name, but you can just call me Dr. J.A. Mackelory.”
I sighed frustratedly and replied, “Okay, well, when can I come in?”
He said tomorrow, he doesn’t have many clients, and so I could come in at 9:30.
I did not expect anything good to come out of this.