the wrong basket

I took pictures of North Dakota, which I think is probably The Most Beautiful United State, but I can't post them here because I don't have a camera cord. I took them all in the car during the two-hour daily commute that my one remaining colleague here and I have. I know "one remaining" sounds bad, like I've eaten the third colleague -- and I probably look like I have; thanks again, Prednisone, and cue the Godzilla music -- but he went home after two days here, as he was scheduled to. My best friend in North Dakota, besides the state itself, is the US Open on TV and the six-pack of Activia Light yogurt that lives in my room for dinner consumption. Yeah, man, I'm like that. I just come home from work and rip open a six-pack. Of Activia.

I would like to tell you all I've learned about bear hunting, deer hunting, veterans of Iraq, sugarbeet season here in central ND, and canned soup, but I'm too tired. It's not been a good few days for the L. family. I don't want to go into detail here, but there have been a couple of reasonably serious accidents. Everyone's okay, more or less, which is lucky. Silly as this may sound, I feel guilty that these accidents didn't happen to me instead of the people they happened to. Of course it's a worthless thing to spend brainpower on, but it doesn't seem at all fair that anything bad should happen to any of the rest of them. If the fates were smart, they'd put all their rotten eggs in one Prednisone-enlarged basket. Moses and his staff know that basket is big enough to carry them! (Re-cue Godzilla music.) It is terrifying to me that I am powerless to prevent these things from redirecting themselves to the appropriate party. Because I am here in North Dakota with no car and no free will, and therefore I have basically no power at all, and bad things are happening to my family and I am able to eat food, and that unnatural state of affairs is not, not, not okay.

My Tysabri case manager has informed me, reprise no power, that they are ready to start infusing me tomorrow. Except: Too bad! I'm in North Dakota. I think my first infusion will indeed be next week. This is happening very quickly, is it not? I am already losing blood in felicitous anticipation, not on purpose. Sometimes this happens when I get anxious. I have been pussyfooting (yeah, I said pussyfooting; tee-hee it out) around the question of whether I am going to have a central line put into my chest (or worse -- hide your delicate eyes -- neck! oh-em-geeee!) at that time, and no one seems to know the answer. Needless to say, I don't want one terribly badly, though it would probably be the only protrusion resembling boniness on my body, besides the large carbuncle that is my heart, a surly, tentacled thing that roars out of its cage at inopportune moments and jabs douchebags in the throat.

North Dakota, you are so beautiful. I am sorry I have sullied you with my bad attitude. I will try harder on days 7, 8, and 9 to live to up to your splendor.