(Yesterday) Have to go to the doctor's office to reschedule my daughter's appt. My path of travel involves a yield sign even though I can only turn right; it isn't actually an intersection: confusing. Whatever. I pause and check for opposing traffic anyway. The first parking spot I see is on the end. This is great! I won't be hemmed in on both sides by other vehicles, will be able to get out of the parking lot with minimal trouble and vehicular claustrophobia. Oh, and I've been singing rather loudly the entire time (Brandi Carlile). It is annoying to turn the car off before the song's done, but I do it anyway and squelch the impulse to continue singing the song as I exit the car.
The plants that flank the entry to the building are in a state of hibernation, so I don't stop to pet or observe them (lavender is among them) but go right through the three doors. I then find myself in front of the receptionist's window, staring at a clipboard with blacked out names and signatures, remind myself that I don't need to write anything on the clipboard this time.... The receptionist looks expectantly at me with a sort of half smile as I attempt to put into words the two reasons I'm there. It looks like she's making fun of me in her head but I can't tell for certain. The taste of coffee is still lingering around in my mouth and I check to see if maybe some of it is on my face and she's smirking at that, but my outer mouth area is dry, so no. She's still smirking. Why? What? I try to convince myself that she's not smirking at me, and look instead at the carpet beyond her while she's going to check on one of the questions I had. The carpet looks like water with tropical fish swimming through seaweed. It's nice. A nurse's feet and legs move into view, standing on the water. Hmmm. A bit disconcerting. Who decided that standing on water with fish in it would be a good idea for carpet? I don't dislike it, but still, a bit odd. I play with the carpet/water visually for a few seconds. She should sink into it! No wait, it's carpet! OK Jen, you're being weird, stop. An appointment card for my daughter is given to me and the receptionist has to go ask someone something if I'll wait. I realize that I shouldn't continue standing in front of the window, and go sit down, card in hand.
The magazines are horrifically boring. Women's stuff: make the most of your shape! And so on, so I sit down. Absent-mindedly, flick the end of the card against the fingernails of the opposing hand. Down, back. Fffllllllt! Flltttttt. Fffllllllt! Flltttttt. Different sounds for each direction. Varying the speed makes a different sound, as does altering the angle of my fingertips. Oh, that's very nice, very soothing. The room more or less fades away and there's just the wonderful sound of this card. Nice...nice... Jen, you're stimming. I don't care. What if the sound bothers them? It's so nice, how could it? Maybe they like it. Probably they don't hear the change in pitch at all. This is wonderful. Why have I not tried this before in this office? Maybe I didn't have a card. Glance at window: nope, no cards on display. The only way to get one is to have an appointment scheduled before you sit down to wait, that's why. The sound and sensation of the card is so incredibly pleasing that it's a bit of a let down when I'm summoned back to the window to be handed a piece of paper and it's then time to go. She's still smirking. Huh...time to go be responsible and carry out remaining errands....
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