Doc’s testing my blues. Currently I’m sitting in the lobby w/ an IV while this radioactive junk runs wild inside me. Then in about 30 minutes they’re gonna take many, many pics before putting me on a treadmill.
I get to leave for awhile but then I have to come back this afternoon for another round. House never makes his patients do this, but oh well.
This unconscionably loud Lipitor-sponsored clock on the wall to my left is an overbearing commercial reminder that I am staring into the schism between my life and otherwise for the first time. If the worst-case scenario occurs then I’ve left a life unfinished and will be dependent on the kindness of others to edit it up. If it’s the other possibilities become the outcone then I’ll have wished I would have stared into the schism some time ago. I thought I knew how to separate the sh** from the sh**. Apparently, as with most aspects of my life, I didn’t take the thought deep enough.
As Sam Cooke used to sing, “the clock on the wall says it’s time to go.”
Time to open the schism and take a look inside
(not bad for left-handed text-tying on an iPhone)
