scrambled

I'm scrambling today. There are two or three paper cuts on my left hand and one on my right wrist. You could say the microfiche cabinets are trying to kill me. My brain turns out to be normal, and I've seen it now, and that's weird. It's weird to look at scans of your own brain. I took them home with me on a cd. My brain is normal, to the expert eye. But I'm still scrambling, because I still don't FEEL normal. Maybe this is all the proof I'll get that this is a chemical thing, not a physical one. My doctor says I should try physical therapy for my neck and inner ears to see if that's the problem. She's an optimist. I'm a little surprised, honestly, that there wasn't a spider inside my skull. Onward, I suppose. I'm seeking solace and celebration(?) in a warm grande starbucks cup of chai. My mom makes it almost as well. She's not here with me at work, though. God, I wish someone was. Her, or S, or a warm fluffy blanket. I'm very much looking forward to having a clean Saturday and Sunday. I need to do nothing but try to be myself.