Insane in the (my) brain

To all Cypress Hill lovers who wound up on my blog due to my title, my apologies- this has nothing to do with the super fab group. Feel free to exit.

I am a pessimist who longs to be optimistic. I really want to see the glass half full and pretty and all, but all I can think is "who the hell drank my wine water".

I always expect the worse, never hope for the best. Coping mechanism? Probably.

I've had a headache nearly every day for the last 4 months. I'm 99.9% certain that they're either from 1) stress (cause I stress about EVERYTHING. If I have nothing to stress over, I stress because I'm not stressing) or 2) my hair, because it is obnoxiously thick. I'm pretty sure I could shave my head and make 20 wig/weave/hair extensions/whatever is in out of them. Its ridic. However, since this is all new to me, my doctor wants me to have an MRI.

So, now I'm fairly certain I have a brain tumor. A massive one. At least if I had a tumor, I could excuse some of the inappropriate things I say (if I wanted them excused, which I don't, so this is really a moot point).

As if I'm not stressed out enough about the unconfirmed diagnoses of my brain tumor, I now need to worry about being stuck in a space machine that looks like a mixture of a vagina canal and a coffin. Good times.

Dun Dun Duuuuun

Did I mention I'm claustrophobic? You know, cause everything will cave around me?

The doctor gave me meds to take before the MRI, that way I can be all high and loopy. I'm looking forward to popping this pill more than I care to admit (I even wondered if I could just take it now, then tough it out for the MRI. Needless to say, I have filled the Rx because I know the answer, but I'd do it anyways just to prove myself wrong).

Claustrophobic pessimist in a vagina coffin. This should go well.

The only thing that could make my anxiety rise anymore is if they were putting me in a straight jacket, then submerging my vagina coffin under water, then trying to take this picture of my brain (I may need a brown paper sack to breathe in to now).

Needless to say, its going to be a LONG week (MRI is next Monday). And googling pictures is not going to help my anxiety, so I should probably stop. Tomorrow.

I should of mentioned, on top of being a hypochondriac claustrophobic pessimist, I'm also blessed with a procrastination gene. I'm a whole lot of awesome, all rolled up in to one package of crazy.