Extraneous sounds. Barely audible shreds of irrelevant noise. Scraps of imaginary whispered debris—the only remaining evidence of the eerily silent echoes that once competed for limited space in the boundless emptiness of his mind. But was it really his mind? Did it belong to him, or was it just trickery, a reflection of a mirror image in that invisible territory at the intersection of sight and sound?
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I got a call from Arkansas Hospice yesterday, inquiring as to my interest in exploring hospice and palliative care. Unless “they” know something more than I do, I think it’s a bit early yet to delve too deeply into hospice care. But, what the hell, I might as well have a refresher on the matter. On the other hand, I do not want to give the wrong impression…I have no interest, yet, in accelerating the timeframes involved in this fairly serious issue. Perhaps I should revisit the topic with them…maybe set an appointment for the first week in June 2075 to go over the introductory process in excruciating detail…
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Here I am, again, trying to decide what to write. Three hours into the day, I’ve decided not to worry about it. What a brilliant decision. I should make brilliant decisions more often.
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Yesterday’s breakfast—biscuits and gravy—was not what I would call an especially healthy breakfast. But it was satisfying…but could have added a bit more sausage to the mix. But…no. A healthy breakfast is always a better choice. Except when it’s not. A deeply unhealthy breakfast can be delightful in the right circumstances.
