Get prepared to be tittilated

So this is it.

Entry Numero uno.

Well, I give a big "hey" to everyone.

Great, now that we're all friends, let's get started.

I am going to India soon and have to get all of these shots to ensure I don't die or get eaten by a mass of flies. Or something. I clearly waited until last minute to get these shots, and got Doctor Random online. He was close to my office and took insurance.

Enough for me.

Doctor what's his name: "Well, you know, you're going to India. So you're going to need things some things. Did you print out anything from the CDC about what shots to take?"

Me (*blank stare*): "Oh, I thought you would know." Because you're the doctor.

Doctor what's his name: "Well, it's different for everyone. It depends if you're going to be outdoors, playing with wildlife, or, you know, other things."

I didn't know what "other things" he was referring to, but I was sure I wanted to be involved in them.

Me: "Okay, well why don't you just give me a little of everything. If you think I may need it, I probably do, so shoot me up."

Doctor what's his name: "Well, XXX can make you hallucinate if you don't drink eight glasses of water with it, so you need to be careful."

Me (mildly excited at the prospect): "Oh that would be terrible. Just terrible. Where do I get this again?"

Doctor what's his name: "Well, let me figure that out. Let's start with this one."

Said mysterious shots pursue.

My arm is sore.

I am flirting with my doctor even though he clearly has no idea about my immunization needs and is obviously round.

I am hungry.

I want an energy bar and a water bottle and a plane ticket to the galapogos islands. I want to go somewhere with sun (the kind you bathe in, not the kind you get melanoma in) where most of the mammal like strangers that travel in packs are wildlife.

But my sisters brown boyfriends brother is getting married, so I am going to India.

They are filthy rich and paying for everying, so I am going with a smile.

So I get stabbed with a few more needles.

After awhile I stop losing feeling in my arm and it isn't so bad.

I almost feel tough because of it.

I'm still hungry.

I'm happier watching a plump stranger stick sharp objects under my skin than going back to my office and hearing the roar of egos through the walls.

I get over it, go back to work, and carry on.

Peaches and sunshine,

Love.

Teresa.