I've done nothing but runrunrun for the past few days. Seriously. You should see my wall calendar at the station - it looks like the Blue Sharpie and the Red Sharpie got in an inky battle with the Black Sharpie, and the Black Sharpie soundly delivered a permanent marker smackdown. Don't even get me started about what my handspring looks like. I'm pretty sure there's smoke coming out of the top.

And it hasn't been a good kind of busy. There's been much cranky involved. Poor Kelly three different times this week wrote me a nice email, ending with, "How is your day?" and was rewarded with a giant whiny rant from me. But isn't that what cyberfriends are for?

So hey, despite the jackasses who answer the phone, my appointment with Dr. K went very well yesterday. I waited a long time, but that always happens. Besides, the time in the waiting room and the examining room felt like a mini-vacation.

Okay, stop. That's a sure sign of my needing a break if I've ever seen one. I'm looking at time spend wrapped in a paper robe, waiting to be probed, as downtime. And it's true - I was all lounging on the examining table, elbow on the pillow, feet resting on a stirrup, reading a magazine and doing a crossword.

(By the way, for a while, I was convinced that I would start while sitting in the waiting room, but didn't happen.)

Anyway, the exam itself was fine... but.

Isn't there always a but?

Dr. K has always been very concerned about my ovaries. Since I have a family history that makes gynecologists run from the room screaming in terror, he's always been concerned about the little o-guys. So he wants me to go to Miami and get a ultrasound. He says there's no problem, and it's just to check things out, but I'm totally icked out by the idea. I'm being a big baby.

I know it's no big deal, and I could be a lot worse off, like if Dr. K wanted to do an ultrasound because something does look funny. I know. I just hate all this (unlike all those women out there who adore trips to the gyne - oh, yeah) and I have to admit, the family history makes me nervous. So I spend my life in a constant state of denial, and always relucant to go poking around, for fear of finding something funky. I know that's really, really stupid. And unwise. And many other derogatory adjectives. But I'm a big scaredy baby, I'll admit it.

I think Dr. K could sense my reluctance, because he then began bribing me with many, many free birth control pills. I'm such a sucker for a bribe. I'm all, "Yeah, Dr. K. You got those pills I like. You got the hookup. You can grease up my gut and rub that metal thing over it for as long as you want, as long as there's some trippy free birth control pill action at the end of it."

Oh, hey! Neal's phone interview Tuesday night went well. It was a technical thing, and he knew all but one question, so that's pretty good, right? Right. We're just sitting back and waiting for what comes next.

Eeek!