Anyway, a CT scan, a narrow bed that feeds you through a metal donut, all very automated and digital, an IV drip for the iodine, drink eight glasses of water through the rest of the afternoon to flush it out of your system.

Driving home I remembered the times I've fled Palo Alto to Highway 101 after one of these little adventures making the dogleg across the Dumbarton bridge and Highway 880 north to Oakland, spacing out on 101 and missing the Dumbarton turn altogether thinking - well, what was I thinking? - that I was somehow already on the other side of the bay on 880 driving north and not on 101 at all, awaking finally to find myself heading toward San Francisco. How fried is that? I don't know. Yesterday, drive down, drive back without incident.

Still, these were generally upbeat introspections yesterday on the road, an outside glimpse of the life and how things are going. How weird is it to miss that obvious turn after a doctor's appointment? These trips to Stanford have in large part been for disturbing reasons, how much of the brain goes comatose at the very sound of "Palo Alto"? My brain inside my bubble. I'm not sure that's how life's supposed to go.

Still (again still), a good day yesterday: the morning at the office, not too bad; the drive to Stanford, yes, but the sun shining, the weather warm, the eight glasses of water an afternoon breeze.

Today, this morning, I don't know: another Saturday, another weekend.