Yes, I have kidney stones, a bunch of them, all of them fairly small. I also have cysts, which I was told you tend to have at birth and although they grow larger over time, they generally don't mess you up. Nothing, you know, painful or fatal. The stones, however, need attention. I have to make an appointment with a machine that smashes them with "sound waves", one at a time while you're under an anesthetic. They send you home when you wake up and you're finished. OK. Sounds OK.

I received an email this evening from another journaler who said she'd had her stones (painful to the point of wishing to die) at 29 and a friend who'd had her's at 19, so it wasn't an old guy thing. The doctor said the same thing. I asked him again about the sporadic "pulled muscle" in the groin - left testicle soreness that had, I thought, kicked off the kidney sonogram in the first place. Could "little stones" be it? No. Kidneys make you feel like God is mad and wants you to know it. Sore muscles don't mean kidneys. I'm scheduling the sound blaster sessions before "God gets angry". The doctor said there was no hurry. Right. I'm scheduling it for January while I've still got a job.

Speaking of which, the word is now the new organization chart will come down this week, the guess is Friday. They like to do these things on Fridays. If your name is in one of the squares, you have a job. If not, not. No way to tell, so I won't speculate. We were told when our department was reorganized out of existence in November that we were safe for the rest of the year. The rest of the year is December 31st. Nobody is holding their breath. If I survive the week, there will be another review, but not until the end of the first quarter. This is no time to slack off, boy-o, keep your resume running, talk with friends (do you have friends?), network, shake hands, stop prosperous possible manager looking people on the street and pitch them on hiring a webmaster, a guy with a smile, a paunch and a Swiss cheese prostate. Who drinks plenty of liquids. And keeps a journal. And a Wuss.

So, that's it. I again found myself alone in an office waiting to hear the results. Part of me said, this is no way to find out, sitting alone in a room, staring at the walls, waiting. Another part of me said don't be stupid. Doctor early, doctor late: if you got it, you got it and you get on with it. One of these days something will come, probably out of left field, and that will be that. Nice if it decides to wait a couple of decades, glad that it hasn't come yet.