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Tuesday, November 16, 2004 |
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All-clear Clumpen, not lumpen, as it turns out, clusters of tiny cysts around a big one. We'll watch it and probably it will go away. And I watched on the ultrasound screen and I still can't figure out why they force you to have a mammogram--torture? to irradiate an already-questionable area? because everything is so clear and obvious in the ultrasound. What is the f-ing point of a mammogram?? Anyway, I should feel elated, but inasmuch as I was never particularly stressed, just weirdly curious, I am correspondingly not jumping for joy. But very grateful just the same to the Great Spirit and to one and all for their wonderful wishes and moral support during a sketchy few weeks. Plus, I get to have an actual doctor, now, something I haven't had for 10 years or so. [The "nine" key on my Macally keyboard has ceased to function. As I effect mop-up here, I'll have to track down a less spiffy, but fully functioning keyboard, especially because I use so many parentheses.] More good news--my pickup is finally running, says the mechanic who has been working on it since JULY. I can pick it up Friday when I get paid. Hooray. He says it's cold-blooded and rough, and I don't think he ever really figured out what the problem was, but, hey, it's four-wheel-drive.
I wish I could upload a photo or something. Hope this much squeezes in, anyway. I must fix my fix-it attention now on Mr. Lawrence Lee at Radio Userland and see if I can politely threaten him or someone into letting me perform a clean install, for crying out loud, so I may at last access my 50 megs. It's very brown, here, with a gray sky. I can see snow falling higher up on the mountain, like a powdered-sugar fog around the trees. |
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I don't have much time before I go in this morning. I shouldn't even distract the stray reader with words today. Go on, others have more important things to talk about. I'm just trying to strike a balance here with the small and personal. I dreamed I traveled all through the night. Where I arrived the neighborhoods were orange-lit, concrete with sidewalks, sparsely peopled. Sometimes a voice echoed off the streets. I entered a jumbled household to the east and watched a family interact--teens, parents, heaps of clothing, soda cans, popcorn crumbs. I kissed a man there. No, he kissed me. I received and answered the kisses of a man there. I can still taste the flavor of his spittle, feel the texture of his tongue. Sense the O his lips made again and again. Sweet, sad kisses in the shadow understairs. And then I was made to leave by the barely perceived presence who guided me, to catch another plane. All night every night I have epic dreams, of which I can remember only a vivid scene or two. We're done moving rooms here. Only the aftermath remains to clean up. I like it. My office is downstairs, now, near the Goddess. Here's this from my Computer-Assisted Research list, of interest to those counting on freedom of speech to see them through anything: CyberAlert, an online clipping firm has announced BlogSquirrel, a new service specifically designed to monitor over 100,000 blogs. According to the press release: "By searching and reporting on a comprehensive cross-section of blogs, BlogSquirrel (http://www.cyberalert.com/blogmonitoring.html) offers an effective ?early warning system? to identify problems and issues that may threaten corporate or brand reputation, or that present new opportunities for product development or business growth." The growing number of "blog monitoring" services is probably a good (if early) indication of the interest around blogs. Source: http://www.natterjackpr.com/2004/11/11.html#a1253
More later. |
