This is not a great day

Any remaining warm fuzzies I felt toward Rob Jones and Peak Performance Physical Therapy dissolved this morning when I opened up a bill from him and found that I owe Three Hundred and Seventy Seven Dollars for my visits in December. Nearly four hundred bucks for a month's worth of about twice-weekly visits (for something that turned out to be a misdiagnosis). I'm going to call them tomorrow to tell them exactly what I think of their policy of telling people at the receptionist window "Oh, it looks like your insurance covers this. You don't owe anything!" and then hitting them with a bill like this three months later. Fuck you, Peak Performance. I'll be revising my Yelp rating and qualifying my recommendation to everyone I've referred to you after our conversation tomorrow. I really should do it today, but stressful dreams left me a little frazzled this morning and I don't have the energy for a conversation like that.

My hopes that the elimination diet was helping were quashed when I swelled up three inches after lunch yesterday and am still up an inch and a half this morning. sigh

The brown boots arrived yesterday and I got to wear them today, but I felt a little stupid for buying them after I opened that physical therapy bill. I couldn't afford them before. I really can't afford them, now. And I'm not sure where the $130 for my Crossfit startup fees will come from. I might have to put that off until the first payday of April. Which is, of course, not until the 13th of the month.

I don't suppose anyone needs any of my leftover stock of bloomers or knitting needle cases, do they?

Three more days until I can have a glass of wine.