If you’re feeling crabby today, jeest like me, here’s a crab image for you. I specified the word CRAB in big white letters lest we forget. I love solid colours, these days. I have no time, or patience, for hues and mixing.
Originally I’d written something about giraffes and long necks. But then, I lost everything I wrote. Ever wonder where all the lost mails go? Probably in some little portion in the sky. A lot of undelivered words.
Missing so much it almost hurts. Where are people? I thought of this as I trudged back home yesterday.
As I said: crabby.
Billy Corgan’s words, over and over in my mind. Dead eyes, dead eyes, are you just like me? Are my eyes dead? I may need resuscitation. Faster, before everything melts into oblivion. Good thing my sister’s a doctor. The only problem is thatwe call her the “Death Resident”. She visited home briefly yesterday, complaining that all the patients she had died. “They’re all dying anyway, I don’t know why I have to be the one on the receiving end.” It scares me how casually she speaks of her patients. “Her name is Michelle, she’s 19 and has this thing growing in her brain. She’s only got a few days more to live. And so young too. Someone pass the ice cream?” I am glum as hell, when she speaks like this. I know that doctors are supposed to have emotional distance from their patients. They need the emotional distance. What can I say? The hospital has robbed doctors of verbal feelings. They are good at hiding, now. Med school prepares you for that. It hardens the heart.
One of the reasons why I could never become a doctor.
Dead eyes, dead eyes, are you just like me?
