A thousand dissenting voices
Too much time on my hands; not enough time. Both equally confounding. I’m in a holding pattern, waiting to depart for a surgical roadtrip. I know the destination, the dates, the procedure (that’s actually untrue). I don’t know what they have in mind. It doesn’t matter. I’m just another number. A stranger that will come and go, and the surgical team will be tasked with trying to improve my life. Can’t wait.
I did check the calendar, bur after all this time at home, the days blend into a sort of cremy soup, devoid of true flavour. I don’t even burn my tongue, I’m so accustomed. Going to another jurisdiction will change things up briefly. Today involved interjurisdictional document preparation. In simpler terms, we sent photos of our personal papers around the living room (the techniclal term is “Airdrop”,to make sure we havd several duplicates of everything once we got to the border. Does that term really apply, in the pan-Can context? I’m also emptying the things from the fridge that have a short shelf life. LOTS of milk because we were under an earlier storm watch. And my new credit card came, so now I am trying to update all those website that believe I am apt to pay my bills. We shall see, shan’t we?
The dog is at the gates. He is wise. He goes outside and then inside, almost as if temperature cotrolled. I know; we’ll do this for another six months of so before he goes bach to watching the grass grow (better he than me) And the new ball of birdseeds has proved to be a popular attraction for all on call. How do they know? To me seeds are devoid of odor, but there are thousand dissenting voices.
