Vertigo again.
Woke up feeling as if my bed was a tiny boat bobbing around among mighty waves. The doctor told me it was that harmless thing again. Really should know better than to go see the doctor for this thing again - last time I ended up waiting for seven hours in a barren waiting room with only a stale sandwich, my nausea and a boring novel to sustain me.
At least the emergency healthcare fees are very low and clinics are plenty in this cold but caring country. I didn't have to wait more than 15 minutes this time, despite the fact that I had brought two novels. Barely had time to study the waiting room posters informing me how to sneeze without spreading influenza and how much a smoking habit of one pack a day for 30 years will cost me (enough to buy an Audi A6, apparently). The doctor looked like she was barely out of her teens (they always do, do they all retire at the age of 20?) and I had the vague feeling she was the little sister of someone I knew.
And she couldn't cure my vertigo. But coffee and sympathy from a friend almost did, for a while. Now, it's back to my storm-tossed bed.
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