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Dear Diary

For the second time in a week I tried to get a blood test, and for the second time in a week the lab didn’t open when it says it’s supposed to, at 7:30 a.m. This time I had even called ahead, and was told but of course we’ll be open, we only opened late last Friday because it was the day after Thanksgiving. Hah! I gave up at 8:00 a.m., leaving more than 25 people lined up outside waiting to get in.

I can’t wait around when I’m fasting–low blood sugar starts bringing on total spaciness, during which I can hardly stand up. I have sent a letter of complaint to the Alameda County Health Department about this so-called health provider.  At this point in life I am fully aware that nothing will come of my righteous indignation, yet I keep writjing these letters. I remind myself of a Doris Lessing character who spends her golden years in this same kind of pursuit of justice.

Speaking of indignation, I just bought Philip Roth’s new book by that title, and I tell you, that man is a genius. The older he gets, the faster he writes books. I’m always blown away by his sociological descriptions of various areas of human endeavor: this time it’s the butcher’s life, then college dorms, so far. It’s going to move on to Korea, to War, speaking of which…

I knew Obama wasn’t the Messiah, but I didn’t expect him to be a Republican. My take is he just wants to be loved, and American Presidents who wage war frequently end up being loved. After his year of dodging bullets (I hear there’ve been a lot of attempts with real ones, too) he got fed up. Tough luck for the Afghanistani people. At a demo in SF last night, they had a larger-than-life cardboard cutout of Obama saying, I want YOU to kill Afghanis! It all sucks.

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