chapter 39: Martin Luther King and the Reformation

after my four days of December Alarms going off in my skull, which came after a sensation in November, which followed a significant and unusual experience in October, i was more than ready to get back to UCLA, and into the machines that could scan my brain.  if only i’d had 8 more problems while in Alabama, i could’ve created a new version of the 12 Days of Christmas.  every stanza might’ve ended with “and a part which did impair me.”  in lieu of an end-of-the-year original song, i chose as January’s artistic endeavor a stellar tribute to all that is dumb:  i missed my first of two testing appointments at UCLA.  two days later, however, i showed up for my second one.  i took a $5 ticket to park in an empty deck, took the elevator up to an empty building, and attempted entry through a locked door.  it was monday, january 17th.  and thus, the great gals running the Neurosurgery department had unwittingly scheduled me on Martin Luther King Day.  MLK was born on the 15th, but the holiday is celebrated on the third monday of January.  if only our annual adherence was more accurate, i could’ve nuked my head on the anniversary of Martin turning 2.  days old.  but thanks to an imprecise system, i returned to my car and exited through an unattended guard gate, which meant i had to debit $5 for the grand privilege of driving to Westwood for nothing.  otherwise, i’d be stuck in the garage ’til tuesday.

……

so it was back to the drawing board with Dr. M.  i would have to reschedule my tests, then meet with him to discuss the results.  in the meantime, i would lose my days and nights once again in work.  work which was all-consuming, in place of many things, including the updating of this blog:  it had been months since i’d reported on my situation, and regrettably, it would be still longer.

but as for the drawing board, someone had doodled a goofy face on it, with the tongue out, mocking my intention toward planning and methodology.  i would soon make up for my missed appointments, but not in the way i had wanted–that ideal notion would be but a dream, like the one Mr. King had.  did his come true?  not in time.  but the deviant fulfillment of mine would be a rush delivery.

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