Doc’s testing my blues. Currently I’m sitting in the lobby w/ an IV in my vein 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

Note: Not bad for left-handed text-tying on an iPhone.

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