These Doctors
Tuesday. We're moving our labs up to another floor in the building. Nothing much fun about moving lab equipment - servers, workstations, books, cables, racks, laptops, DVD burners - but it has to be done (diddle-dee-dum) or else what would we do (doodle-dee-do) if we didn't have access to our testing toys when they shut down the floor we're currently on?
You're writing about moving lab equipment?
It's my lab so I'm responsible and I've therefor been packing boxes and moving boxes and dreaming about boxes and writing about boxes and being a dull boy about boxes, here in the heart of left box America. If you get my drift.
Thursday. The big lab is done, the little lab is almost done and I will be done tomorrow. Done, done, done.
The nasal spray, by the way, seems to have made the sinuses better, although the mouth and head still ache. Life is better for that, no complaints. I've discovered, of course, there's no way to describe this thing with words. If I were reading this I'd wonder what the writer was really talking about. Ache? Hurt? Sinuses? There's no real way to tell in an exposition. A passing (years long now) phase? The beginning of the end? An hallucinatory invention looking for sympathy or a dread descent to the bottom of the well? Who can tell? I can go back and reread old entries and not be able to judge the severity of what I was talking about. Is it better today than it was yesterday? Last year? Is it worse? It seems to be different, yes, but will it eventually disappear? The doctor said it will either stay the same, get better or get worse. Call him if it gets worse. Curious folks, these doctors.
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