Hypo-Chon-Dri-Ack!

I've admitted it to many people already, people both close to me and people who are practically strangers. But I'm a friggin' Hypochondrac.

My latest obsession is that I have sleep apnea. I can go into the so-called "sleep mode" and be there for 9 or 10 hours and still wake up exhausted. My dad snores like a bear, and before he was diagnosed with sleep apnea, he used to fall asleep at the wheel (I attributed that to the affair that I never proved he was having, but I digress). Thank goodness that this part of California doesn't have snow, so the lane-dividers are bumpy and can wake a person up. I've been told that I snore, but not like a bear. I've warned people of it before nodding off. I've even asked them to let me know if they heard any roars in the night. They say it didn't happen, or if it did, the were only soft roars.

Lately I have been plagued with allergies (thanks, Dad!), and as a self-diagnosed hypochondriac, as I fall to sleep I hear myself going there as if I am practicing rolling my "r's" in Spanish. Of course, hearing this, I cannot sleep, because I am checking to see if I am going to get enough oxygen to live through the night and thrive the next day. Often times at 2 am, I am ready to roll out of bed and see if I can get checked into Stanford Sleep Clinic. And then I allow myself to wander into places called " the to-do list" and "does he like me" and "this is what I'll do at work tomorrow" and "this is how my parents see me..." and slowly but surely I unknowingly grow unconscious.

And so it goes. Since I don't have unlimited funds, I am forced to throw "sleep apnea" onto the pile of piled-up terminal problems that my eternal soul has discovered in my terminal body. But that hasn't stopped me from eating like shit and smoking up a storm. Call it smart, call it stupid, call it blocking, call it what you want. Personally, I'd like to call on a personal physician. MRI please! MRI!