My body is out to get me. At least that's what my doctor told me today. She turned to me and said that this strange little thing that's been happening to my body, if it's what she thinks it is, is happening because part of my body has gone berserk and is trying to knock me off, a little like a mini mafia on the cellular level.



I spent most of the winter recovering from one Thing, and they tell me it'll never really go away completely. So I don't have time for a New Thing. I have time for looking for work to support myself now that I can work again. I have time to hang out with the friends who stuck around when, over the winter, I had to rest after walking from the TV-watching post to get a glass of water and back to the TV-watching post. I have time to reconnect with the ones who were less present because they didn't know or because they felt uncomfortable.

I do not have time for a spoilt brat of a body throwing a hissy fit like a teenager rather than the 34-year-old that it is. And a mighty young looking 34-year-old at that, he added modestly.

Or it could be nothing. But thanks to my doctor, I'm already convinced it's something. But, like my grandmother Miriam liked to say over and over, if you prepare for the worst, what actually happens won't seem so bad. And she died of lung cancer, so she knew a thing or two about preparing for the worst.

When I was a kid, the only lumps I was worried about were lumps in my mashed potatoes. But all lumps are conquerable. It's a good thing I already shave my head.


I'll look exactly like this guy!