Zen bird

click... clickclick........ click......... cl..... ick..... click....

That is the sound of one hand not typing but I'm not complaining for one day after surgery. Hell, I used to know a poet in Santa Cruz who typed all his books with the one finger method. Anyway, yesterday I wandered down some pretty dark paths. For instance in pre-op, while the lab tech blew a couple of veins trying to set the I.V., it occurred to me that the glare of the oblong overhead light I was staring at is the last thing some people see just before dying and lying on the hard cold surgery gurney as I began swirling around the event horizon of my failing mind, I was overwhelmed with sadness thinking about all the lab animals who watch in horror as heartless researchers do terrible things to them, all without pain relief, and after surgery I briefly understood what it must be like to outlive your world and await death among indifferent strangers.

Today, swollen as it is, it's still wonderful having the pressure off my middle and ring fingers (ulner and median nerves) and the carpal tunnel repaired. If it weren't for the cast, I'd probably be able to flip the bird from a fist, a talent all but lost to me before yesterday. But in my brief absence I fear Uncle Monkey has been up to more shady business.