Reconfiguring Babies and User-Friendly Cyclotrons
I know animals do it and we humans having been doing it, but I just can’t believe that a human came out of the body of Mark’s sister-in-law. I’ve been there with her at holiday dinners and other family get-togethers, where all was conceivable to me, and then one day a human life started growing inside her. Last night the little human came out, and I keep having explosive epiphanies about it: Oh my god! A baby came out of her! It’s alive! She’s alive, and she’s going to grow and be adult-sized one day! Oh my god! It’s revelatory! I woke up this morning and wondered if it really happened. I think it did.
If so, then the new baby is a she, and—I know everyone thinks the baby associated with him or her is the most beautiful—but this baby is truly beautiful. Big dark eyes whose creases extend far across her temples, a head of naturally coifed black hair. And she literally made only a peep. The family were the paparazzi and then some. The chka’s of the cameras were going from the time we finally got to see the baby until we left hours later. By we I mean the herd of us, all 9 of us, plus Mark’s brother, who by the way had daddy-grin and big-eyes all over. Mark and his dad retrieved me from work around 11am for the event. I had thought the relationship was too distant to justify my leaving work; i.e. it wasn’t my child having a baby, not even my sister (I don’t have a sister, but if I did she’d be perfectly normal). But the boys wanted to come and get me, so I explained the situation to The Good Doctor (who is having a painfully busy time lately, which when he was sorting of confiding to me put tears in my eyes), who generously told me to go. The baby wasn’t born until after six, so probably I didn’t need to leave that early, but—a baby was being born. It was a major event. We dropped Mark's parents off at the hospital, and then instead of sitting there for hours, Mark and I went shopping and awaited The Phone Call.
First we went to Campmor, where Mak purchased some dried campin’ food for us to sample (Beef Chili Mac (appropriately for Mak and for me the namer of Mark to Mak) which I’m damn excited to try), a shovel to dig holes for the bodies, and some extra-biodegradable toilet paper in which we will wrap the bodies for the sake of fashion. Then on to EMS, where I purchased a large zero-degree penis, a large camping and outdoor survival guide, and a new National Geographic with a large article on caffeine, its history, and our crazy consumption of it. Apparently a guy in Wales committed suicide by swallowing 100 caffeine pills, and apparently the jolt hits you more quickly if you chew it (as in gum) rather than drink it. The survival guide has been placed on the coffee table for easy access so that I can peruse it bit by bit regularly and learn about fire, trees, and attacks by wild animals. Next, Burlington Coat Factory, where I tried on a pea green faux fur coat that was at least three sizes too big for me. I looked like a polished animated character from some urban monster legend. The coat was not purchased.
What are the odds that two days ago I would decide at random on a name for my pattern psychological looping, Cyclotron, and then today, while searching for more information on PET and SPECT imaging for a work task I go right to a web site that defines them as "lower cost, more reliable and user-friendly cyclotrons"? Do not answer that question; please do not answer that question. The magic is in not answering.
"Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged... it's how I arrange my mind." This comes from one of those forwarded e-mail pests that threatens you with bad luck or with the absence of a miracle if you don’t annoy at least seven other people with it. I willingly extracted this line to spread around and tossed the rest. I’m open to all possible stimuli and configurations, be it insomnia, white noise, Kool-Aid, outdoor chemistry and survival experiments, whatever. Onward, ho.
If so, then the new baby is a she, and—I know everyone thinks the baby associated with him or her is the most beautiful—but this baby is truly beautiful. Big dark eyes whose creases extend far across her temples, a head of naturally coifed black hair. And she literally made only a peep. The family were the paparazzi and then some. The chka’s of the cameras were going from the time we finally got to see the baby until we left hours later. By we I mean the herd of us, all 9 of us, plus Mark’s brother, who by the way had daddy-grin and big-eyes all over. Mark and his dad retrieved me from work around 11am for the event. I had thought the relationship was too distant to justify my leaving work; i.e. it wasn’t my child having a baby, not even my sister (I don’t have a sister, but if I did she’d be perfectly normal). But the boys wanted to come and get me, so I explained the situation to The Good Doctor (who is having a painfully busy time lately, which when he was sorting of confiding to me put tears in my eyes), who generously told me to go. The baby wasn’t born until after six, so probably I didn’t need to leave that early, but—a baby was being born. It was a major event. We dropped Mark's parents off at the hospital, and then instead of sitting there for hours, Mark and I went shopping and awaited The Phone Call.
First we went to Campmor, where Mak purchased some dried campin’ food for us to sample (Beef Chili Mac (appropriately for Mak and for me the namer of Mark to Mak) which I’m damn excited to try), a shovel to dig holes for the bodies, and some extra-biodegradable toilet paper in which we will wrap the bodies for the sake of fashion. Then on to EMS, where I purchased a large zero-degree penis, a large camping and outdoor survival guide, and a new National Geographic with a large article on caffeine, its history, and our crazy consumption of it. Apparently a guy in Wales committed suicide by swallowing 100 caffeine pills, and apparently the jolt hits you more quickly if you chew it (as in gum) rather than drink it. The survival guide has been placed on the coffee table for easy access so that I can peruse it bit by bit regularly and learn about fire, trees, and attacks by wild animals. Next, Burlington Coat Factory, where I tried on a pea green faux fur coat that was at least three sizes too big for me. I looked like a polished animated character from some urban monster legend. The coat was not purchased.
What are the odds that two days ago I would decide at random on a name for my pattern psychological looping, Cyclotron, and then today, while searching for more information on PET and SPECT imaging for a work task I go right to a web site that defines them as "lower cost, more reliable and user-friendly cyclotrons"? Do not answer that question; please do not answer that question. The magic is in not answering.
"Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged... it's how I arrange my mind." This comes from one of those forwarded e-mail pests that threatens you with bad luck or with the absence of a miracle if you don’t annoy at least seven other people with it. I willingly extracted this line to spread around and tossed the rest. I’m open to all possible stimuli and configurations, be it insomnia, white noise, Kool-Aid, outdoor chemistry and survival experiments, whatever. Onward, ho.
1 Comments:
Right! :)
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