Had an idea here but let it slip away. Slip slide slippery slope, sloppy slippers sliding subtly into substreams of gaseous elements. Walked past an early morning class that was commencing at a place where cement workers get OSHA or OSHA-like training for high-paying jobs. I wanted to just stop my progress to the subway and sit in on this class, become a cement worker, become the cement worker whose cement-laying skills go beyond expectations into the realm of artistic mastery. Cement itself would be renamed in my honor. Sidewalks would be paved with “Mark Thomas” and none would complain or feel chagrinned, all because I one day took a chance and stole access to a cement training class, ushering in a grand and expansive new era in the art of laying cement.
In fact, moments later, I found a freshly-laid patch of cement on a sidewalk as I approached the subway. This was after the dream of hijacking the cement training class had passed. I found an object on the ground, an expired ball point pen which looked a lot like the ones I use, and I used its dead end to etch my initials “MT” into one corner of one of these new cement sidewalk squares. Will this confir upon me immortality? Sidewalk immortality shall be mine, or shan’t it? Maybe I will find out this afternoon.
I have already achieved it outside the building in which I live, Twice you find my “MT” initials scrabbled onto the cement while it was still fresh enough to allow. Nobody smoothed over these initials, as has happened in a few other locations around the neighborhood. I went as far as etching “SORABJI” and “WSBJ” on some freshly-laid cement on Crescent Street but those cement masters had no patience for my shenanigas, erased within hours.
Tomorrow I get blood work done for the first time in years. I’ve avoided it. I don’t know why. I’m also set to get an overdue colonoscopy in a couple of weeks. Fun times. An escort is required for me to leave the facility, since I will be fully sedated. I don’t know that I really need an escort. I have been sedated a number of times and, while I felt a little qoozy, I was perfectly fine to get home by myself. But I followed the rules.
When I had a couple of teeth pulled I was sedated, as was someone else that day at that same office. That person, post-sedation, looked like they had been hit by a truck. I did not look or feel like much of anything had happened. Why is that? We both were put under in identical ways. I don’t know. Same can be said for other endoscopy procedures and sedations. I felt fine afterward. Maybe this time will be different.
