loop, infinite

Today I went to the student health clinic because I had an appointment. This appointment was scheduled for two p.m, but I was in the waiting room by one-forty-five. This wasn’t because I’m some kind of anal, meticulous dude; it was  because I miscalculated the driving time.

The clinic’s waiting room is small. It only has enough seats for five, maybe six people. A table in the corner is cluttered with brochures. These brochures have titles like “HIV Facts” and “The Truth About Herpes.” They are propped up in a loose circle, and in the center of this circle is a basket, and from this basket rises a cairn of shiny, glowing condoms.

I looked at those condoms today and thought there was something mystical about them. The henge of surrounding brochures just seemed to give them this dignity, this gravitas. These condoms, I knew, were pure. They were holy. I felt terribly unclean just looking at them.

I considered raking ten or twenty or fifty of those condoms into my pocket. I would give one to each new person I met before even shaking his or her hand.

“You’ll want to wear this,” I would say. “You’ve got to protect yourself from me.”

The person would say, “You mean you have an STD?”

“No,” I’d say. “I . . . am an STD.”

(The pause between “I” and “am” was of course the most important part. That was the part that would make the person realize I wasn’t kidding.)

There’s a flat-panel television in the waiting room, too. It is mounted above the receptionist’s desk. It is a nice television.

I remember watching this TV about a year ago, shortly after it had been installed. I watched part of an episode of Seinfeld. Three months later, I returned to the clinic and watched part of a different episode of Seinfeld. Three months after that, it was still Seinfeld. And it was Seinfeld today.

The television is obviously wired to some sort of medical device that pumps Seinfeld, and only Seinfeld, into its electrical veins. Or maybe it’s just hooked up to a DVD player.

I watched today’s Seinfeld with great interest for several minutes until I realized I’d seen the episode before: it was the one where George thinks he’s having a heart attack but actually just needs his tonsils taken out.

It’s weird that it took me so long to recognize what I was watching. It’s only been a few years since I last saw it. Was it that long ago?

I watched a hell of a lot of Seinfeld in summer 2007. I watched the show in one big, concentrated burst. I had nothing better to do.

When they called my name I went in for my appointment. I was there to get my antidepressants renewed for another few months.

I see a nurse practitioner for my antidepressants. I’ve never seen a real, actual psychiatrist. I think I’m afraid to.

The nurse never asks many questions. She asks if the meds are still working for me. I say yes every time, and I guess I’m lying. I don’t know. Maybe they do work. I can’t tell if they make a difference. I would have to stop taking them for a while to be able to tell, and I’m afraid to do that, too.

I went to CVS to fill the new prescription. It’s too bad. I should have done it tomorrow. I was kind of planning to. I thought it would be perfect. It would fit. I mean, I pre-ordered Final Fantasy XIII, and that game comes out tomorrow.

My plan was that tomorrow I’d get up early and pick up the drugs on the way to pick up the game. Then I thought I would post some faux-meaningful shit here about how I purchased Final Fantasy XIII and refilled my antidepressants on the same day and that this “seems somehow significant,” and that “clearly there must be some kind of connection between the two.” Et cetera. But I got the drugs today. I ruined it.

Now I’ve got to study.