I feel like a boxer who's been repeatedly battered about the face and head. On Tuesday, I was picking up some breakables at a consigners's house and slipped on the stairs, sitting down rather abruptly on my left bum-cheek and knocking my left temple into the edge of the brick wall. I didn't break the plates I was carrying, nor did I lose consciousness, but I immediately developed some really impressive bruises on my backside and saw constellations around the edges of my vision. I asked a colleague to check if my pupils were the same size, and didn't feel any more dizzy than I did already (thanks to the lingering cold), but my head has ached dully ever since that tumble. I don't bounce back from injuries the way I used to.
Right now, I'm sitting in a doctor's office waiting for my mom to reemerge from a checkup. She's texted me that's she's sitting bored and abandoned in an examining room, and is wondering hungrily if the doctors and their staff have all taken off for lunch. When she mentioned that she was considering taking the pillow off the exam table, I thought she was threatening to start chewing on it, but it turned out she was weighing the odds of taking a nap in earnest.
They have an Orwellian telescreen at one end of the waiting room, which is controlled by a building-wide timer, so individual offices don't have the power to turn it off. At least they have the ability to mute it, so the only ambient noise I am subjected to is the creak of other patients shifting in their chairs, the flipping of magazine pages, and the conversations as some folks attempted to fill out the medical information sheets: "Your mother jest died of old age. I think your daddy had some sort of heart problem..."