A Trip to Urgent Care

 I have laid quiet for days due to illness.  I have seen medical professionals and am following their advice.  My mother has been extremely supportive, giving me a ride to an urgent care on a very busy day for her, and my stepfather was so kind as to arrange a lyft for me from the urgent care.  I went to Park Nicollet.  I did not like that they allowed very sick children to be in there without masks on, and even one baby was very sick reportorially was fed and then burped very publicly spraying its illness all over the room.  Besides that baby and me, no one coughed at all the whole time or signs of any illness at all.  It was the most diverse population I have ever seen there.  I have never seen East Indians (because of the dialect she spoke I knew she was an "untouchable".), or African Americans there before.  There were about 8 African American persons served.  Wheelchairs were in full effect for high quality exposure moment for here and abroad.  People around me are so delusional, they use their gift of prophecy or other connections or gifts to find me, and they really think they are on TV.  This younger woman came in trying to do this fab gamer fashion with jammy pants and a baggy shirt with this slamming techno hat.  I'm sure all she could say was that I was fat.  My med list was all messed up again even though I was in there a little while back.  My nurse did swab me for Covid.  It went so very far up there, it hurt so very bad.  The wait and the stress made my back lock up.  The doctor came in and I told him of the condition I had months ago and said that I did not know if it was him who treated me, but it was a white male, attractive doctor like him.  It was just a descriptive statement, but everything I say is always taken out of context.  I was not attracted to him at all.  He had a very ugly soul.  He thought about a chest x-ray, heard my cough, looked in my mouth and in my nostrils and diagnosed a sinus infection.  He gave me Augmentin.  My lyft driver was in an SUV with completely dark blacked out windows.  He said his name was Ming.  He looked like a Buddhist monk with his head shaved perfectly.  I sat quietly as he drove because I was fatigued, and because he asked me to, telepathically.  I did speak a few times when he asked me to.  I let him know that I appreciated the windows because I had a bad migraine.  I associated his name, verbally, with MING DYNASTY art to confirm it when I got out.  He seemed very pleasant.  I have been having very painful phantom attacks on my joints (shoulders, knees, and ankles).  I now believe he is in this country illegally and he is martial artistry in France.  He is one of Thich Nhat Han's "almighties."  Thich is the excommunicated Buddhist monk from Vietnam who I did see on the number 18 bus one day on "Eat Street."  This ability is very illegal, and now every dojo will feel it since he is attacking the all-dojo master.  Tae Kwan DO is not a real dojo, they are street fighters, thus they will not, and their lack of dojo time and training will be proven.  By the end of the day, you will all know that the master is me.  In my pain, there is a Grand Plan that is about release from the demons of the world, not about an actual worldly destiny.  Somehow this illness is serving a higher purpose.  I would also like to thank my sister for checking in on me.  Dr. Jennifer K. Mayer 112