... About Self-Diagnostics

Hey, Reader! Remember back when I made a resolution to update my blog more often?

Oh, you don't? Good. Neither do I.

Here's what's going on in my world lately: my eye won't stop twitching. I'm pretty sure that means I'm dying. Or, it means that I'm going to throw something through a window pretty soon. It's driving me absolutely bonkers. For the last two days it's been like my upper eyelid is rocking out to some music only it can hear (maybe the crazy bump left over from my toe eye is actually some kind of tiny molecular iPod or something).

So this morning I turned to Dr. Google to find out why my eye is twitching. I long ago decided that Dr. Google is far superior to a real doctor. First of all, there's no waiting room. Secondly, unlike real doctors, Dr. Google never presses one of those freezing cold stethoscopes against your skin. Thirdly, unlike even worse real doctors, Dr. Google never breathes on one of those freezing cold stethoscopes to "warm it up" so you end up with a freezing cold stethoscope coated with a thin moist layer of wet warm stranger breath pressed up against your skin.

And, Dr. Google is free! It's like living in Canada, but without having to deal with all those Canadians. The only disadvantage to using Dr. Google is that you can't sue him for malpractice when he tells you that the reason your eye is twitching is because you aren't getting enough sleep.

Don't be stupid, Dr. Google. As anyone who has ever met me knows, I go to bed at 7:30 every night. Right after I watch Matlock and feed all the cats. There has to be another reason. At the very least, there has to be a more impressive sounding reason, one that will win me sympathy and inspire Reader to make me some sort of baked good.

Aha! Blepharospasm! Much better. But still, that doesn't seem very dire. The most I could hope for with that are some chocolate chip cookies or lemon squares. I want some sort of eye-twitching disease that will earn me Cinnabons or cupcakes. With sprinkles.

Myokymia? Hmmm... does sound a bit more tragic, doesn't it? I know! What if I combine the two? That'll do, Dr. Google, that'll do.

Reader, you might be saddened to hear that I am suffering from a severe case of myokymia blepharospasm. My doctor, Dr. Google, doesn't seem to know the most effective course of treatment. Yes, of course I got a second opinion. In fact, when I asked Dr. Google "how to stop eye twitching", he provided me with over 203,000 opinions.

No, no, don't cry for me, Reader. Tears won't do either of us any good. Really, it's unnecessary. You're too kind. I'll manage to get through it... somehow. But if you really feel like you must do something to help me, I suppose... I suppose it would be ungrateful of me to turn down your generous offer to bring me some sort of delicious homemade baked good. Why, yes, of course, I adore cream cheese frosting, but I couldn't possibly ask you to put yourself out for little old me and my terminal myokymia blepharospasm.

That's right, my terminal myokymia blepharospasm.

You know, Reader, I bet Dr. Google knows some really delicious recipes.