Meanwhile, the beast-thing that we broadly refer to as "Society" continues it's dissolute, cannibalistic repast; a centuries-long Last Supper , ending with either the just desserts of the righteous, or the non-fat ice milk of the wicked. Or somewhere in-between.
The point is, I'm gonna have some ice-cream with fudge, peanuts and a handful of M&M's that I found in my pocket while I was doing laundry. I am celebrating a clean bill of health from the Doc. I was waiting to find out if years of hard living had done any permanent or serious damage to my liver-amazingly, the damn thing seems to be working OK these days. It's actually healing itself-Doc says my enzymes are down to almost normal, which I'm pretty sure is a good thing. He seems surprised. I am. Heart, lungs, blood count- all good.
Even my blood pressure is good, which was previously a little high; worrying the Doc. It was the booze, I 'spose.
So what if the Cat's Cradle is becoming unravelled, accelerated by the use of scissors and torches? It's not exactly the first time.
I'm still gonna have my goddamn sundae.
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