Don't let me avoid the doctor

I don't know what the fuck I did to myself over the weekend but I can hardly fucking walk now.  I got out of bed this morning and my calves are just crippled, like the muscles have entirely seized up and think it appropriate to have me totter about like a scarecrow.  It almost had me toppling to my doom down another set of stairs today, but thank Heavens my fall was cushioned by a gigantic man who called me 'an Absolute Fucking Peanut' before kindly dragging me back to my feet.

In other news, I had a whiskey and dry ginger this afternoon and summoned up the courage to call the doctor and book an appointment.  And it isn't for any type of cancer or imminent stroke this time - it's actually to talk about the whole anxiety and depression thing, and about where to go from here.  We were meant to do it a little while ago but somehow I kept finding reasons to avoid it...

But I am going to go this time.  I have inscribed it upon my calendar and therefore I must go because the calendar is law.  Also I've written it in an uncommonly thick black pen that reminds me of a board marker but has a nib so gargantuanly huge it has left absolutely no space for me to write anything else in there.  So I can't change plans now, because it won't go on the calendar and I'll forget.

Don't let me make up a reason not to go.

I was searching for a picture of a giant pen, but this came up so I kept it.