While at the Doctor

Yesterday I went to the doctor.  And was told, "The doctor is running a bit late; his surgery went long.  Have a seat and we'll call for you." 

 

So sit I did.  Pulling out my iPhone to tinker, only to watch my screen go black and give me the white swirl of dying.  Ever since the dropping in the water and baking scenario, my phone does this.  It just up and dies until I plug it in again. 

 

So sit I did.  Without technology. 

 

With the uncertainty of not knowing how long I'd be waiting. 

 

I reached into my purse and found my little notebook and a pen.  A good pen.  Please tell me you know there are good pens and bad pens.  This pen was from the HoDo in Fargo.  If for anything, go there for a pen. 

 

I started writing, scribbling out a story about my new coffee pot from Christmas present of Tuesday.  About how it's a fancy number, one which keeps the coffee up in a reservoir until you hold down the switch to fill your cup; one cup at a time but from an entire brewed pot, the stroke of coffee genius.  About how I tackled setting the rather large contraption up Wednesday morning, manual in hand while soaking the mineral filter.  About how the cord was rather short, so short the wall could not be reached.  About how I pulled and pulled on the cord and could not get it longer.  About how I read in the manual about the cord, read the words, "The cord is short as to not cause entanglement.  An extension cord might be needed."  About how I made a phone call after extension cord was plugged in and first pot was brewed, "This might be the best coffee maker ever!  But it's really weird in that it has this short little cord and I know you are going to say to pull it out but I read in the manual and it's a safety thing and it even says right in there an extension cord might have to be used." 

 

About how once at my house later, Billy inspected the new coffee pot with the extension cord and listened to me wonder where I was going to find a short black one to use instead of the long white one adorning my counter. 

 

About how he proceeded to pull the cord out and said, "Oh my little blonde Norwegian."  With a gleam in his eye.  Then about how we laughed so hard.  "I even read the manual!"  Laughed so hard. 

 

Yes I wrote that little story in my notebook while waiting for the doctor.   

 

After two hours, the nurse did my beginning stuff.  Weight, blood pressure, pulse, and the questionaire about are you sad and what is your religion of preference.  I'm not joking, they now ask you what your religion of preference is.  I said, "Lutheran.  I'm a Lutheran.  Does that matter?" 

 

My blood pressure was low low as was my pulse and the sweet nurse said, "You're healthy.  Really healthy."  And all that while I was fixated on the fact the scale said I was six pounds heavier than the last time I was at the doctor.  Fixated. 

 

So when she said you're healthy, really healthy, it shuddered my inside a bit.  Because I struggle with perfection and was mentally figuring how many days it would take of running and eating not Christmas style to be back to where I was before the holidays.   

 

But my goodness, I need to cut some slack now and then.  Because I'm healthy.  Really healthy.  Perfection is never achieved and a Christmas cookie on Christmas is freaking allowed.  This little blonde Norwegian is working on lots of things.  Things like reading manuals and letting myself live without the worry I will end up back where I was.  Because I won't.  However, I can't guarantee I won't ever do things like forget my car has a neutral or think a two inch cord on a coffee pot is normal.  That's part of my charm.