Friday, May 27, 2011

3108. 'WHAT AM I TO DO?'

'WHAT AM I TO DO?'
Now the patient rejects the conclusion.
'The diagnosis, it must be wrong. How
can one, any, mentally unbend the spoon,
put back the contents of the egg, reseal
the vacuum'd seal?' Standing as we are
on Promontory Rock, you mention the
impulse to jump; to end it all. This
fever'd pitch, the incline to Destination
Death. 'They've found the tumor, mind
you, in my gut, and won't operate. Things
I don't understand. I just listen - 'we can't
operate really; once the air hits it it will
multiply quite swiftly' - good Jesus what
does that mean? I don't feel sick exactly,
just humbled. It isn't, after all, like I've taken
a dose of pride.' You looked down, and you
cried. 'What am I to do? What am I to do?'

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