Cue ball, far corner in Normal entries

Much like you, I’m very fond of myself except for when I think I’m an asshole, or, when I’m just the observer to some grand or base display of someone elses design, yours, perhaps. It’s been hotter than a motherfucker, ok, hot enough for a fellow with a predisposition towards fucking his mom to remark on it, but humid? That’s serial motherfucking moist out there; here.

It’s the kind of weather that starts you off thinking about writing a murder mystery without a murder to writing a slasher script. I was thinking about the former yesterday, 93 degrees and like 85 % humidity, as the conveyer took me into the tube. Um, for narrators who might not be following, I had an MRI on my head yesterday. That sounds more urgent or intense than it was. I got pictures of the inside of my skull though, that’s cool. No offense to the narrator but it looks pretty damn average to me. I’m sure to my doctor it will look like I need a bone density test, a colonoscopy and a surgical chassis alignment. That was supposed to be funny.

A sense of humor is like a sense of smell; the smelt it dealt it rule applies and it still bugs you when someone shoves a jar of mayo from a 1950’s bomb shelter under your nose and asks ‘does this smell funny to you?’ To a lesser degree, if you have to explain a smell you’re doing something wrong. Much like you I’ve been known to do a thing wrong once or twice and, much like you, and I am loathe to admit it but when I do I embrace it, I own the motherfucker like a motherfucker.

Twenty minutes in the tube was more relaxing than the week anticipation of spending twenty minutes in the tube. They have extra air conditioning in there. A week is almost cruel amount of time to set out a big scary test. They set it out three months and you can ponder, be morose, be anxious and then forget about it for three weeks. Also, a week makes things sound urgent. Even if they were urgent the follow up would be, will be in this case, lackluster at best. Um, that might be cynical but it’s sort of what I’m hoping for. The standard issue migraine medication seems … unsafe. Now, much like you, I’m cool with unsafe if it’s got some euphoria involved, but to combat a headache? Yeah, no, not even really a headache most of the time. Just hallucinations. The other kinds of medications aren’t going to be considered. The pictures sure don’t look like there’s a brain tumor.

There’s a little part of me that blames this State. It’s irrational but the kind of irrational that doesn’t go away when you tell it that it doesn’t exist. I still feel like a stranger here. Again, not as urgent or intense as it sounds, over the course of a lifetime I have cultivated the stranger look, I just don’t turn it off around here very often. Hmmmm, that sounds cryptic or new agey. It’s the words. The narrator apologizes. You, however, know what he means, right?

Ok, I’m putting this nonsense up and crawling off to sweat in a corner.