I got up this morning at 6:30am so I could shower and eat and head out to catch the 8am bus downtown. I was supposed to see my therapist at 9:30am, and that bus runs only once every hour. The steering failed on the bus not even a mile from my apartment complex. We were all moaning and groaning – most everyone on the bus was headed either to school or work. I called the clinic and left a message for my therapist, after we knew for sure. Bus broken down, transfer on the way, won’t make it to transit center for connection, won’t be there until after ten. I fully expected someone to call me back, but I should have realized that this was this clinic I was dealing with.
I walked into the clinic around 10:15, I guess it was. My therapist just happened to be in the waiting room calling another patient into the back. She looked startled to see me. I said, “Didn’t you get my message?” She looked even more confused. She went on; she didn’t have time to sort it out. I went up to the window and told the receptionist what had happened. Again, I asked, “Didn’t you get my message? I called at 8:10am and left a message with your answering service.” I might as well been talking to the wall.
My therapist’s schedule for today was booked solid, and she didn’t have an opening until September 30th. I’ve not seen her since the beginning of July. I swear if she wasn’t so wonderful and hadn’t helped me so much, I’d just switch over to UK Psychiatry. Am thinking about it anyway, once I’m sure I have medical financial aid again. I get so stressed out every time I go to this particular clinic. They’re so poorly organized it’s pathetic. The people out front don’t know what the therapists are doing and none of them know what administration is doing and vice versa.
I had to run to Wal-Mart real quick on the way home – as much as one can run to Wal-Mart real quick when one is dependent on the bus. But I managed to get off one bus, run in, get what I needed, and run back out in time to get the next bus. This bus was heading downtown, but as hot as it was, I didn’t care.
I ended up not getting home until around 2pm. I dropped off the rent check at the office, came in and told Preston I loved him, told the cat I was laying down, and went back to bed. I didn’t resurface again until after 6 o’clock.
And I’m still tired and still aggravated.
In other news, I have the laundry sorted and ready to go, so I can get up and go straight to the laundry room in the morning.
Writers lead such glamorous lives! What fun!