Sometimes we cross paths with people who are put in our path to give us a reality check. After sitting next to me on the MAX today, hopefully there is a guy in a BMW somewhere that realizes that his life isn't as bad as he thinks.
Today has not been a good day. I'm really pissed off about having cancer. My relationship with the Mexican finished disintegrating this weekend and since I wasn't sleeping already, my ability to handle life in the last 48 hours has been questionable.
I took the MAX to the hospital today. I was scheduled to have my port flushed, then go to radiation. I checked in at the oncologist's office and, after checking in, sit there for 20 minutes. Upon reminding the receptionist that I was here, it was obvious that she had forgotten to notify the nurses.
So I left to go to radiation. Radiation is usually a pretty brief appointment...in and out in less than 15 minutes. But I had to see the doctor today. Basically waited a half hour (with nothing to entertain me other than a three year old People magazine) to have her look at my boob for 10 seconds and tell me it looked fine. As fine as 2/3 of a boob with a wonky nipple can look.
Then back up to the oncologist's office. I'd never had my port accessed without numbing the area first, and upon the first attempt to insert the needle, understood why we numb the area first. Because it fucking hurts. I jerked 6 inches in the air and the movement tore the needle out of my skin. I started crying, there was a lot of blood involved and I left the office with a huge gauze pad taped to my chest.
Which brings me to the guy with the BMW. First, even though the train was packed with commuters, he had his stuff spread out on two other seats. He was gracious enough when I asked him to move his things, but then he wanted to chat me up about how bad his day had been because his BMW was in the shop and he had to take the train.
This, in my opinion, was a full-on demonstration that some people live on a completely different planet of self-awareness than the rest of us. This planet is called Planet Paris Hilton. A planet where a lost day of BMW driving is a catastrophic event that must be shared with the puffy-eyed and exhausted woman sitting next to you. You know that woman, the one with a huge gauze pad sticking out of her shirt and no eyebrows.
I managed to tolerate this for about three minutes. Finally, it was one huff of frustration and complaint too many.
"You have to be fucking kidding me," I said.
At this point, BMW man finally exited orbit and made contact with planet reality. I think he finally looked at me, really looked at me, and became deeply ashamed. I don't purposely like making people uncomfortable, but it is my guess that, for once, I may have made the world a better place by feeling sorry for myself and completely losing my shit on an innocent bystander.