What did I say?
Two weeks ago I had both an upper and a lower GI done at Dr. Sitti's house of gastro-something-ology. During this procedure a team from the north was to travel through my body in a southern direction to meet explorers from the south headed northward where they would drive the golden spike and have a photo op (or something).
I was given a substance which caused me to become very unfocused but not unconscious. I remember seeing lots of pink on the nifty portable TV screen the doctor had there. I don't know if it was "up pink" or "down pink" but I'm pretty sure it was "my pink." I thought that I would remember being penetrated at some time given that a mobile news crew was going live on location inside of me.
My first issue is that I wanted to remember it so I could hold on to the drama. Now I'm merely another hapless victim who got so messed up they didn't remember what happened. I know there was compressed gas involved!
My second issue is that my chauffeur informed me after the procedure that I kept the clinic staff laughing loudly for 43 minutes some 16 minutes longer than my usual routine. I have enough issues that I could have said any number of things like "Kiss me Doc." I might have told them about the time we took that runaway down to Ray's Shell and traded her for an oil job. There is a lot of running room between small talk and privilege. I wonder where my skid marks are?
I wonder, I wonder I wonder; but I really don't want to know.
More of a collection of random thoughts from a man on the cross roads wanting to sell his soul but finding no takers. All this and more set to banjo and fiddle.
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