Today
no pain (yet),
no stress (yet),
no major complaints,
yet.
I feel drawn
to this exercise
in tumult.
So I decided to try
without.
Yesterday
my brain was scanned.
Results pending.
So I sit
and wait
impatiently
to find out something
catastrophic (unlikely)
or nothing (irritatingly likely).
It is a strange thing
waiting
for sentencing.
I imagine this is akin to a criminal
waiting
for sentencing.
Not knowing.
Not really afraid
because the deed is done
but the results yet
pending.
Am I a criminal?
In some ways
I suppose
I am.
It is impossible
to prevent
mindful wandering.
Everyone likes
to ponder
winning the lottery.
Fewer
like
to ponder
winning the reverse lottery.
The lottery of suffering.
Grim.
If I won
the lottery
of suffering
I don't know where I'd start.
I'd quit this fucking diet
for sure.
Burritos
every day.
Cash out.
Set up a trust.
Write.
But like
real writing.
Not
whatever this is.
Not that this isn't
meaningful,
but the ravings
of a death-row inmate
seem more interesting
to me.
That's a bit
troubling
isn't it?
That there should be more
meaning in lively things
nearer to death.
I reject that.
If I find out
five minutes from now
deathly news,
this has been
no less meaningful,
and what comes after
no more.
11380' 