Something Like That
Nothing happened at work. I was not led to the door with an envelope in my hand. No one else was led to the door with an envelope in their hand. This was the last day for five people whom we already knew about, but basically, everyone just wandered around the halls looking distracted and lost, the managers, I thought, as well as the troops. They say Monday, now, and it will be a big sweep. Whether I am in front of the broom, mixed in with the dust - who knows? - but again, all is rumor, all is just hot air, much like my remarks. Except I wouldn't bet against Monday. Too many telling signs, too many people ready to blow their cool unless this thing is resolved, one way or another.
Hard to say what lies ahead for the weekend. I can't imagine why I wouldn't watch the Super Bowl. Drink some beer. Put my feet up. I have been hiding here in the apartment since the operation, of course. No photographs, no BART rides under the bay, no trips to here or there with camera and film.
I had an appointment with my doctor this morning and he gave me a prescription for a bunch more of the anti-vertigo tablets. That was pretty exciting. Still have the vertigo to go with the tablets. I have another appointment Tuesday with a Neurologist, this particular Neurologist because he has access to a lab device of some kind that my doctor thinks may isolate my inner ear problem. Testing. We will go a-Tuesday-testing, the day after the rumored sweep. We will learn what we will learn and I will undoubtedly write about it, ad nauseum, ad astra, Adios Muchachos. Or something like that.