Not much to update. There are no majors, and the minors remain few.
The radiation doc ordered up a brain MRI because of headaches. These are the same headaches I’ve since I embarked on a career as a Fat Guy when I don’t get enough to eat. I’m not concerned, except the part of me that’s convinced it’s naught but a rotting shell of tumors in my skull, which is a tiny part of me.
Let me say this about brain MRIs — if that’s the best we can do as a human race, a generation of eggheads has dropped the ball. What an ass-whipping. 45 minutes of beating and banging and carrying on. It’s easy to lose the will to live when you’re lying in there being still. All I could think was, “You know, I could be in Key West dying slowly and learning to fly-fish for bonefish or tarpon, instead of laying here in Houston being assaulted by a GDMFSOBing machine.” It’s not just the viciousness and the volume of the damn noises, it’s the variety, like a junior college industrial music octet warming up for the Big Shoo.
Well, that’s enough whining. Back to the Varian in a couple of hours…