The Reason They Call It "Ass"essment

Ugh.

The whole thing is now over. I did another round of tests with the third-party examination office this morning. I filled out like 20 pages of paperwork, and was examined by their on-staff doctor. It was weird having him tell me that I "was doing amazingly well for someone who has been through a car accident and knee surgery." Like I needed a pat on the back from this freak. He kept telling me that Toronto Maple Leaf-er Owen Nolan and I had the same injury, and that is why we lost in the playoffs. Like I give a shit about some multi-million dollar hockey player. He gets first-class medical attention, and I get my stupid family doctor telling me that my knee is "swollen".

Sorry. I guess I'm just bitter. Wouldn't you be?

Anyhow, this doctor seemed to think that I should be happy getting this assessment done. I personally hated every second of it. Here I am, losing wages, being told indirectly that I'm a liar, and having to work hard at lifting and pushing shit.

Well, it's done. Let's see what the evil insurance company does about the results.

I spent the night hanging out at home for what feels like the first time in weeks. It is so friggin' humid out, that lying still is the only option in a house where my folks are too damned cheap to turn on the air conditioning. It's like 33 degrees Celsius outside. I opened my bedroom window, turned on my tiny electric fan, and watched the wind blow through the trees as the rain started to fall heavily in big fat drops onto the ground. I loved the weightiness of these raindrops. It is as if each drop could nourish the Sahara. I look for these moments of beauty and peace more often. Reflection is good.

I also spent what my folks call "quality time" with them. Nothing pleases them more than to have me eat dinner with them in front of the television watching "Wheel of Fortune" and "Canadian Idol". Pablum for the masses. Watching schlocky television and not talking is quality time? Only in my folks' strange version of reality. I guess in this way, we can pretend we're just like any other family. The irony is, I still think we are very normal. Well, if it makes them happy, then so be it. Paying my emotional rent in this way seems tolerable, at least, for now.