A few weeks ago, about the time I came down with whatever illness it is that has so totally knocked me on my ass, I went in for a battery of blood tests for my yearly physical.
I've pretty much been in a panic ever since. Partly fueled by my father's death; partly by my friend Andrew's recent diagnosis; and partly by my own nature to always imagine the worst, it's been 3 weeks of mental hell.
For the past few weeks I've been imagining myself as Schrödinger's Cat. Stuck in my box, both alive and dead, waiting for the doctor to open the envelope and observe the situation and let me know which reality is mine.
Today, Dr. Gilbert opened the box, and I'm very happy to say that the cat is alive and well.
Now if I could just kick the last remnants of this illness and get back to feeling as healthy as I am, all would be great.
you know it's spring when the sidewalk berries are in bloom
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