Three months in the hospital and emerged with the doctor’s verdict
. . . tops?
“You have three months to live.”
. . . “It is in the liver, spreading gradually to the brain.
. . . Put your affairs in order.”
Or rather, in my case, disorder.
A due date focuses the mind wonderfully.
Suddenly you don’t have to fret about paying the water charges. You want to weep for the pup that will be left behind.
What did I miss in the three forlorn months?
Me own self.
Ireland voting yes to same-s*x marriage.
And,
On a weird connected note,
Bruce Jenner on the cover of Vanity Fair as a woman with the phrase
. . . “Call me Caitlyn.”
Jesus wept.
Missed the Eurovision song contest.
Ah, horrors.
Missed the Grammarian being literally bricked.
I got back to my apartment and, for a few minutes
