Temperamental Journal

When I was twelve or thirteen, I bit down too hard on a thermometer and it shattered in my mouth. From my Mother's quick response, I surmised that the little mercury balls I spat were more dangerous than the glass shards. I wonder...could my current fever symptoms be somehow related to the ingestion of mercury in my youth?

Mood Humanidity

As I walked through eleventy-six percent humidity on my way to the train, I had these thoughts in mind: Out of my way, large, slow state workers and otherwise biggiesized human obstacles! I have but three hundred seconds to reach my train with its freezer car technology. I'm afraid that you, shiftless amoebae, are already lost to the hell fires of your Earth. Cruel? Perhaps. But it's so stinking hot. Anyway, it got me thinking. I wish I was on friendly terms with someone to whom I could say, "Move your big fat-thing arse out the way!" Don't you want to be able to say that without guilt or vengeance? I wish I was outsized. I’d let you say that to me! As it is, if you see me steaming along the sidewalk, feel free to say “Hey, slow down there, freakish, skeletal, pencil-neck! You’re going to forge some sort of wormhole with that ship’s prow Adam’s apple of yours!” Or some such thing.

Vena Cava Cha Cha Cha

You know the way the health of the pre-deceased is often described by a friend or loved one on the news ("He'd been saying that he wasn't feeling very well all day yesterday...")? That's how I've been feeling.

It's a sort of thrumpy, cored-out, gastrocardio-melange of retiring-and-disintegrating-cell-wall feeling, mostly located in the vena cava. I'm interested in hearing from any of my more knowledgeable readers

who may or may not be associated with the medical community, real or imagined, whether or not my symptoms are caused by an overabundance and/or lack of fiber or otherwise.

And just in case, you should probably practice your on-camera demeanor for the inevitable news byte.