Because an awesome system for people seeking psychiatric care for unknown-to-the-HMO reasons is to make it absolutely impossible for them to (1) schedule an appointment or (2) talk to a human being who isn't going to treat them like they are insignificant, then follow it up with a "Wait, this isn't an emergency, right?" like it's some kind of passing question. For a MEDICAL FACILITY.
I think my mom's potential response is best: "If I say yes, will I get an appointment?"
Jesus, I'm not standing on a bridge here, but. I really hate the phone, and I know they don't know that, but the simple fact that I've actually called them twice speaks volumes to the people who know me. I'm trying. Today I was okay; tomorrow I might not be.
I need a productive weekend. I have onyx-tinted water-based varnish and sealer/topcoat/whatever and other assorted tools to make the pieces of my unassembled, unfinished, solid pine platform bed frame into something vaguely attractive and protected so I can stop sleeping 3" off the floor on a mattress that's continually sliding off the side of the futon frame.