Ain’t it funny how you can see it coming? Signs are given to ominous events. Remember the clocks and the repeated digits I kept seeing the month before? I knew they portended something. And I said so.
It has been a strange several weeks in one respect. Maybe it’s been only two weeks, it’s hard to say. Often when I look at the digital clocks now it’s often the same numeral repeated. Whether 11:11, 4:44 or like now 3:33. Makes me feel apprehensive, like something ominous is about to happen. There has been an unusual number of these lately.
As if to underscore the point, I received a phone call while writing this. Did a couple of other things and then sat back down to work. I glanced at the clock. It was 4:44. Eerie. That’s the first time it has happened two hours in a row, much less even two consecutive days. It is like a flashing signal in my individual metaphysical world. Meaningless or portentous, it’s nevertheless there. One of those things that can be experienced by nobody else but me.
I saw something was coming with that little psychic eye of mine. Indeed, had I known what, I would have been unable to function. But that flashing sign was there. That flashing sign was there. A genuine omen. I was especially chilled when it underscored itself in the above passage.
I never thought I was going to spend my summer in the hospital. Fate certainly threw me a curve ball. I almost struck out. Terminally. For a while I feared I would never leave this hospital alive. The person in the room next to mine in intensive care certainly did not make it.. I’ve been in the hospital about six weeks. The entire month of July simply erased from my life. A couple of weeks ago I saw the faint light at the end of this dark tunnel. Now I anticipate the exit in three days. I discover something about myself. On the vain side, according to many of the nurses I have “good hair”. Apparently when I don’t comb it, which I haven’t done in six weeks, it’s curly. I think I’ll keep that look. That’s one less thing that I will have to do in my daily grooming routine. I had been seriously thinking about cutting it all off when I got out of here, adopting a different look to mark this ordeal I’ve been through, but now, thanks to the admiration of these women, at least one of whom thinks I look as young as 40, I will take the opposite approach. One of the benefits of a long hospital stay is it allows your hair to grow long. So that’s going to be my new look, in commemoration of this horrible experience: curly uncombed hair and a bushy mustache, rather than the cropped one I’ve previously worn. I will have to cultivate it, as I have just learned from a cursory internet search. Instead of combing my hair I’ll be combing my mustache.
This will indeed be like getting out of jail and I shall be able to resume some of my bad habits. Actually I have only one, and its not really bad. Quite the opposite. I discover also that my eating habits are not so bad compared to hospital food. My normal diet includes much more fresh fruit and salad than the hospital’s, which is virtually none. They have done a job on my digestive system. I will be glad to get back to regularity, which I had before, even with my reliance upon sandwiches and fast foods.
Even now I find myself getting back to normal. Previously I could not have written this long without developing a headache. Though I feel it coming on now, still the onset is later. And it is nowhere near as severe. Gradually I am regaining my faculties.