13Jun / 2025

Things that go through your mind when you are locked in the urologist’s office at the beginning of a long weekend

Wtf?

Where is everybody?

from the outside?

Unlikely.

(Checking the door)Dang.

(Mental image of the John Travolta gif meme)

(Physically acting out the meme)

(Chuckle)

Dang

On the bright side, plenty of rubber gloves and lube.

Probably Viagra, too.

If only talented actress Pia Hierzegger were here.

(Jk I did not have any thoughts about respected actress Pia Hierzegger.)

Where was I?

If I call the urologist’s office, I will get the out of office message and it might include an emergency number.

Oh FFS why are they speaking so fast on this recording? How many times will I have to dial this before I have the whole emergency number written down?

Answer. Answer. Answer. Pick up the phone.

Leave a message, are you serious?

Theoretically if he gets a notification when someone leaves a message, if I leave a lot of messages he might get the idea that something weird is going on and listen to them before I turn into a dusty skeleton with cobwebs.

Dusty skeleton wearing dusty rubber gloves.

I could try climbing out the window. It is only one storey down.

But I could not close the window behind me.

Would it make sense to call the fire department? Would the police arrest me if I called them?

Maybe I can find, with much luck, the private number of the urologist.

Well it was worth a try.

I am going to have to call Alpha.

I could inform Alpha that I am going to be a bit late.

(Mental image of Alpha setting Rube Goldbergian construction of various social relationships, administrative organizations and political bodies the existence of which I can only guess at in motion to effect my rescue.)

Yep, I live in the Kafka/Three Stooges timeline for sure.

(Speaking to the apologetic urologist, who calls me like two minutes after I call Alpha) Be polite and friendly, he’s your urologist.

Errare humanum est.

Permalink

19Jul / 2022

Running up that you-know-what

I was racing a nun up a hill this morning, the final and steepest hill on my morning walk from the train station to the office – it goes past a nunnery, convent, something along those lines, the ground floor windows are barred and when you look in you generally see nuns, stamping out license plates, sharpening spoons into shivs in metal shop – and she was tough, despite the early heat – maybe she wanted to get a to a bus before the dogs picked up her scent – the scent of a nun – Al Pacino’s lowest-grossing film (at the box office at least) but I was doing pretty good, I was ahead, I was leading but then I had to stop to feed a crow because rule is, if the crow recognizes you and you have anything edible on your person you must share and this crow definitely recognized me – I even recognized it, black with a white spot, unmistakable – plus it said, Racing nuns now are we, Mig? And I was like, More like trying to get in my fitness points this morning – my wife gave me one of those watches that tracks your every move – And this is my best hill, the longest, steepest hill on my morning walk, here have a Frolic. Have five Frolics. And it went to work on the Frolics and left me alone. And that’s why I got fitness points this morning, just not as many as I had hoped for.

Permalink

07Mar / 2018

One final question

Man: (refreshes his glass of Midleton) So, before you kill me, how did you find me?
Two strangers: (look at each other with puzzled expressions)
Man: I changed my identity ages ago. I went off the grid. Were you clicking through old bookmarks from blogspot.com days? Do you even remember that “last updated” feed they had? I’m still friends with people I found that way. That was the best.
Man: Or was it a random social media link?
Man: Or something more sinister?
First stranger: I did a search for facts about the grunion, actually.
Second stranger: Names for electric cars, here.
Man: (takes sip, says nothing).
Man: Ah.

They sit that way for a very long time. The strangers glance at the bottle of Midleton now and then, but the man ignores them. They will be drinking this soon enough, he thinks, when I am dead.

First stranger: Actually, we’re not actually here to kill you.
Second stranger: No.
Man: Ah.
Man: (Pours himself a fresh glass, and puts the bottle away)
Man: (takes sip) Then you will be going soon, I imagine.
Two strangers: (Shrug, look at each other)
Man: Before you go, I want you to know one thing.
Man: All I want is for you to be happy.
Man: That’s all I want. But I realize that just saying it is useless.
Man: I mean, there used to be people who wanted only for me to be happy, and it had no effect. I disappointed them and myself. Happiness is an elusive target, anyway. I suppose what they wanted was for me to achieve a situation, a mental state and social/economic situation conducive to self-actualization and a condition of agency in life, and here I am, the same lost bobbing cork as always.
Man: But I am content.
Two strangers: (Give each other puzzled looks. One glances at the glass in the man’s hand)
Man: I am sitting in a garden, petting a cat and waiting for death. I have not achieved all I dreamed, but it no longer matters.
Man: All that matters is that you are happy. That you attain a state of agency and personal power. That you can speak of yourself with honesty. (Drinks the last of the whiskey, sets glass on table.)
First stranger: (Licks lips involuntarily)
Man: (Looks at the sky outside) Now I wonder if, when someone told me “all I want is for you to be happy,” they really meant “all I want is for you to have a life of your own and get out of my hair”.
Man: If, when they said, “Do anything you want,” they meant, “do something.”
Man: Hrm.
Man: (Notices the strangers have left)
Man: (Pets cat) (Drinks the last drops of liquid in the glass)
Man: (To cat) I wonder if that is what I meant.
Man: (Sighs, begins typing fresh story)

Permalink

Metamorphosism

Tag Archives: stream of consciousness

Running up that you-know-what

One final question