This past week I had to go visit my endocrinologist for a sort of check-up. I'd already had my blood drawn the week before and sent off to his office, so mostly as an appointment it consisted mainly of a few minutes seeing that I'm fine, telling me about the test results, and writing new prescriptions. Seems my blood pressure, cholesterol and other levels are all good, except vitamin D which is still in recovery. Since the last visit I have gained 3 kg and he asked if HRT had increased my appetite, which I suppose might be so. The pattern of veins on my thigh has faded, likely because using keyboard and mouse peripherals this past while has forced me not to keep my laptop on my lap. Have had some occasional pain in my right thigh which I notified him of. Also told him I worried the androcur might have been having a depressive effect on my mood, and that next time I would likely ask him to switch my prescription to spiro for a while, to see if that had any effect on how I felt generally. I said I didn't want to try it immediately on account of my mother and her husband going on long vacation soon, as conflict with them might be a confounding factor, and also stressed it is entirely possible I am simply prone to some natural depression anyway. The day was illustrative of the amplifying effect of public transport. I missed my train by 2 minutes (called and confirmed I should still come in even if late), 20 minutes later the next train arrives and an hour late my appointment happens, so that a 2 minute delay at one end becomes 1 hour at the other. Although part of that is some confusion on the part of his secretaries that led to a quarter hour when I was not called that they thought he was with still someone who had left already. Anyway, I finished reading The Great Gatsby in the waiting room, and since it was a bit affecting I wondered if I should be embarrassed to read something strong in public. It reminded me in parts of Interview With The Vampire and Berserk, with Louis's great emptiness and Griffith's world-consuming dream, though different again of course in how the characters proceed. Now I need to find a new book to read. For idiosyncratic reasons I cannot yet finish Paradise Lost and following To Reign in Hell. So, have borrowed Tristram Shandy from my mother's library. As I walked to and from the office I forced myself to keep my gaze up. If I couldn't the stones in their patterns under my feet, my reasoning was, I wouldn't have to count or pattern my steps to their lines. But that sort of thing is not readily escapable, and not looking down became its own minor challenge to be kept. At least I got to walk faster over those surfaces.