Day At A Time
Hard to find significance on a Tuesday. Wandered out to have lunch at the local brewery pub, thinking I'd like to have a place to sit and read the paper for an hour after a hectic morning, have the Chicken Caesar, maybe, and a root beer. They brew their own root beer. It is not, now that I've refreshed my memory, worth the $2.50 they charge, but, what the hell, it was OK. The Caesar, the root beer and the company. Two of the usual malcontents happened to be sitting at a table with another friend who's gotten the package and will leave in April. Does that make for a good day? Sure. No question. I can read the paper later.
And this is how you start?
Sure, why not? How many days do you get any kind of rush? A rush of insight, a rush of adventure? Other than on those days you happen to pass MSX in the hall, of course, with the long legs and fine, um, bone structure and she whispers low and throaty as she passes: "Hello". Hello. And if you did happen to get a rush each and every day, day in and day out, sometimes even, once or twice before breakfast? How would you keep your wheels on the road? The stress! The stress!
Yes, well, and tomorrow?
Tomorrow, the head scan, next week another rush with the results. Still have the funky dizzy feeling, sometimes more, more often less, but you're not supposed to get a funky dizzy feeling unless you're many drinks over the limit. Am I worried? I must be, but it feels like many another bump. Go shopping (bump!), take a vacation (bump!), lose a prostate (bump!), discover you've got a head round the bend and you don't have to worry about saving up for retirement (bump!).
Why am I not more uptight? Nothing written down that says how you're supposed to feel about these things, I suppose, but I think many folks would take this more seriously, or, and this is the clinker, the one thing that would be a bitter surprise: I do take these things seriously, but hide it, very successfully, from myself. Can you hide your feelings from yourself, without a hint, without a slip, without the least bit of an idea? I suppose you could, but then you could well have gone through your life oblivious to most everything in it, could you not? Missed the bus? Missed the mystery?
Well, I'm not convinced this is going to turn out that badly, although there are reasons it might and life likes a surprise. This is, after all, a dangerous age. So many things up in the air at the moment. You can't listen to the news without getting upset, can't go to the office without getting the package, can't go to the doctor without some new and unpleasant prognosis, can't even write a journal entry without wringing it out in public. I'd rather be writing about kitty cats.
Maybe a little tired. I'll get upset later. Next week. Next life. Tomorrow I'll take off, have the tests, have dinner later with MSM. One day at a time.