My Little Golden Book of Phobias

I can't believe that I might be getting sick again. Could it be because I'm on call for the next hundred and fifty years, I'm moving my clinic to Eastlake, my honey just moved in and oh yeah, we changed out emergency number at work (for clients) and we fired our answering service because they can't pronounce 'midwife' or 'midwifery' and they're RUDE to clients. Like, they're an ANSWERING SERVICE, I mean, they answer the phone. Is that so hard? The last time I complained, the boss lady said the operator was having 'personal problems' Wha? They schedule clients on days when we're not in the office, they double book clients for one midwife and they misspell names and get phone numbers wrong.

Or maybe I have a cough because I'm dying of consumption. I could cough delicately into a lace hanky and then play a few etudes. Then I'd put a hand to my brow and slide to the floor under the piano and lie there insensate while my beloved throws rose water on me.

I'm not getting sick. This is ridiculous.