...
I mean the anomalies keep on coming. First they're telling me Casey Kasem is alive again to have gone missing, after I'm positive I was marveling that Dick Clark had outlived even him... and, yes, I did just check to make sure Dick Clark is still gone, but I fully expect a scandal where he takes a bride sixty years his junior any day now... and now they're telling me Ron Jr. is straight? With cats? I mean, didn't he really radically come out as gay about the time Clinton got in office? Hasn't he been a judge/announcer for the annual big deal Westminster dog show? Did my neurosurgeon take out some necessary screws to bolt my head back on me?
No. Really! I'm being serious now... however laughable you find it. In 2005 they took me into the OR at UCSF, decked me, strapped me to a swivel table and a bodhisattva surgeon god from the highest heaven started working on me just like a master mechanic, hydraulic drills and all.... I have not one memory of my ordeal because they used some sort of ultra anesthesia on me, man. I mean cosmic. I've been put under a number of times in my life and it has never been like that time. That was no mere nap. That was to-the-moon-Alice. When I finally started coming to in the recovery room, I had some moments of not recognizing this thing called consciousness before even considering that I was needing to get it back. My hearing came back loooong before my vision did.
I was giddy in love with my surgeon for a few weeks afterward. I think he must've said something marvelous to me while he was yanking out my collapsed disks and puttying up the empty spaces they left and bolting on the titanium plate to hold the whole shebang together while all three vertebrae were hardening into one, otherwise I can't really parse the flood of love afterward. I mean, I can totally hang with me coming out liking him a damn lot and respecting him, but goofy idolizing him like he was a movie hero? Is that right?
I mean, you might've thought I wouldn't be so fond of him after our first meeting. He came striding in on fire and said, "You've got to have surgery right away!" No hello. No preamble. No breaking it to me gently. Just, "Shit, man, yer head's going to fall off!" I tried to make some of the carefully schooled noises expected of patients in the face of avid surgeons, and he got all dismissive and rolling his eyes and trying to make me do some completely unnecessary neurological tests... "Here. Squeeze my fingers as hard as you can!" "Harder!" "Oh, pfeh! You don't understand, one little stumble, one little fender bender and you are going to be in a baaaaad way." I dropped it. I already knew he was right. Even without all the weird symptoms, the MRI images were clear enough even to me. My spinal canal was very close to completely occluded.
So maybe he liked me for not giving him much shit... for dropping my stupid programming in favor of sense... and said something dreamy to me while I was buried somewhere on Pluto... but I am beginning to suspect he didn't put me back into the same timeline he found me.
In the timeline on which I was born, there were two sphinxes at Giza. That's flat. I'm dead certain of that much. And I'm even more inclined to believe these Luciferian nut jobs running everything carted one off somewhere secret and just hush anyone who can show what happened than that I'm not in the same dimension I started out on... but... now so many other things are slipping around on me.... Anyway, I'm pleased there seem to be more google hits when I search... which means I'm not the only one who is struggling with it.
