I visit my psychiatrist tomorrow, I have mixed feelings about it. Normally it’s something I would look forward to, getting to complain to someone who MUST listen and grunt that he’s listening, but this particular trip is going to be a pain in my ass.
Normally I have them schedule my appointments for Monday, Wednesday, or Friday, so I can take the shuttle that travels from my town to my shrink’s city. It gives me 45 minutes of solitude so I can gather my thoughts and present my issues in the 15 minutes allotted to me. Unfortunately, the office has rescheduled this appointment three times, and it was necessary to just take any time-slot available.
This means I’ll be getting a ride from some random stranger that the state will reimburse. It’s a great program, this Medi-Uber thing, in theory, but it’s a problem for me. I don’t make small talk. And it’s been obvious, each time I’ve been compelled to use the service, that that is the reason these drivers are willing to drive complete strangers all over the state to their doctor’s appointments: they are bored and lonely and want to talk to someone.
It drives me bonkers. I am neither bored nor lonely, I’m simply too poor to own a vehicle. I have someone to talk to, a licensed professional, and I’d like to have my issues lined up in as much order as I can give them so I don’t waste one of the three appointments a year that the insurance will cover.
I don’t care about the drivers’ families or hobbies or regrets. I DO NOT CARE. And no, I don’t want to share my life with you, Noble Stranger. I don’t want your encouragement or sympathy or folksy bootstrap wisdom. Shut up and drive. I just need to get to the clinic and can’t wait another four months for a Wednesday slot to open up.
Being crazy sucks.