9:47 AM
mood: tense
last night's sleep rating: F
Holed up in my office. The team has been looking at me funny all morning but nobody's said anything, not even Cameron.
Again and again I look at my watch; the minute hand creeps closer to the 12, closer to the time when I'll get the call, when I'll get in the elevator and be carried down, down; when I'll go to the exam room and see Stacey standing there with the man she loves now. She'll say, Greg, thanks again, this is Bob or Dave or whatever the hell his name is.
She doesn't love me. Or she loves me, she just can't stand me, whatever. But she knows I love her, and that I believe her, and because I love her and believe her I'll look one more time for the illness that nobody else can find.
My phone rings. As I reach in my pocket, the clinical part of my brain notes that my heart is beating faster.
"Greg? It's Stacey. I'm sorry, but Mark... we won't be able to meet you this morning after all. I'd like to call you back to reschedule...."
Sure, Stacey, I say automatically.
I put the phone away and reach for my tennis ball. Fury and relief.... sometimes they just go together like peanut butter and jelly.
last night's sleep rating: F
Holed up in my office. The team has been looking at me funny all morning but nobody's said anything, not even Cameron.
Again and again I look at my watch; the minute hand creeps closer to the 12, closer to the time when I'll get the call, when I'll get in the elevator and be carried down, down; when I'll go to the exam room and see Stacey standing there with the man she loves now. She'll say, Greg, thanks again, this is Bob or Dave or whatever the hell his name is.
She doesn't love me. Or she loves me, she just can't stand me, whatever. But she knows I love her, and that I believe her, and because I love her and believe her I'll look one more time for the illness that nobody else can find.
My phone rings. As I reach in my pocket, the clinical part of my brain notes that my heart is beating faster.
"Greg? It's Stacey. I'm sorry, but Mark... we won't be able to meet you this morning after all. I'd like to call you back to reschedule...."
Sure, Stacey, I say automatically.
I put the phone away and reach for my tennis ball. Fury and relief.... sometimes they just go together like peanut butter and jelly.
1 Comments:
I'm working *backwards,* here, commenting on the most recent entries first. But, since we've established "time is not a fixed construct," that's okay. (The Ducklings are *cringing,* shrugging their shoulders and rolling their eyes in the background, aren't they? I can tell. It's okay, Ducklings... Don't be afraid. LOL) ;-) LOL It's human beings that like to view time as a linear construct with a one-way directional arrow that goes from past to future. I'm going to work the other way around, today. ;-)
Hey, if *Cameron's* quiet, that *is* noteworthy. LOL But, I don't blame her. I'd have to mess with your concept of reality to say who I *do* blame. (*cough... writers... cough*) So, let's not go *there.* ;-) From your perspective, Cameron *is* a hormonally imbalanced overgrown schoolgirl with a magnificently egocentric view of the universe. It really *is* "all about her." But, like Jimmy once said, "nobody's perfect." Maybe she's a 'late bloomer' and will mature a decade or two in the next couple of years. ;-) I *like* the kid, when she's not terminally self-obsessed.
Ahhhh. Stacy. And, Mike... er... Matt... ummm... *Mark.* Now you've got *me* doing it, Doc! ;-) Once you start *messing* with names, it gets tricker to remember the real ones when you actually *want* to... LOL
Don't let Stacy mess with your head too much, Doc. (Maybe I should say *brain* to avoid any possible confusion, there... LOL ;-) ) If you *were* "the guy," she'd be the gal who could be with you as you are... People can only change themselves (and then, only rarely and usually under extreme provocation along with a lot of whining, griping and navel-gazing LOL). But, just because you're not "the guy" for Stacy doesn't mean you *won't* be for someone else. Or, that you have to stand around and let your ex *spork* you through your vital organs at her whim. Still, it's helluva nice of you to agree to track down the sneaky beggar of an ailment that's making Mark's body do the neurological equivalent of the 'funky chicken.' ;-) Mark's a bit of a 'moving target.' Good luck pinning that puppy down to diagnose his mystery disease du jour. You'll have to be a *mark*sman, so to speak. ;-)
And, it begins... Mark is off and running. Good luck catching your elusive quarry! ;-)
Sanlin
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