no thanks

After visiting a doctor a few days ago and being offered some medicine that I didn't want to take for various reasons, I had this dream:

I was riding my bike down a long road, but didn't know where I was or where I was going. Along the way, there was a pit stop where I decided to stop. Someone there was serving soda from a drinking fountain and offered me some. I said no thanks, and went along on my way.


Thank you cocky, close-minded, labeling, but good-intentioned Doctor for reminding me that western doctors are horrible at treating hard-to-diagnose, complicated illnesses. Thank you for forcing me to get my anxiety in check through my own means.

And . . . thank you for getting me in touch with a part of me that desperately needed to come out at this time. Remember the little girl who rallied for playground swings in the third grade? Remember the college student that stood on a couch leading a crowd in protest chants at the president of the university's symposium? Well she's back. And there's no way in hell she's drinking your soda when she's got access to all the water she needs.