After He Destroys My Desk …

… I get the look of love. Except, there’s still a bit of the devil in that face, isn’t there? I’ve asked my friend Jackie to modify the blog banner to say: Satan’s Fur Puppets. That’s one of my favorite nicknames for Buddy and Finney.


The MRI was unnerving, I have to say. Two things made it okay. 1. They didn’t put me all the way in. From the knees down I was sticking out and that was enormously comforting. 2. I’m teeny. That space inside is VERY small. A lot smaller than it looks on TV. I got through the unnerving bits using MBSR which I have learned and I really have to post about.

Most people are braver than me, it seems. Life would be so much easier, I can’t help thinking, if I wasn’t afraid of EVERYTHING. (I saved a baby spider yesterday, but then later killed a big one because it was too scary. Felt terrible about it.)

Afterwards, I asked the MRI guy to show me the part of my arm where it hurts, because where it hurts is different from where the doctors says I’m injured. They say it’s my shoulder, I say it’s my arm. They say I feel it lower because pain radiates, but for me it hurts in a line across the top third of my arm.

Sure enough, all is darkness in the MRI until you get to spot where I say it hurts, and then there are two bright white lines going around the front of my arm, surrounded by a cloud of white and white spidery-looking veins. The guy says he isn’t really qualified to interpret and I say, “Could you just tell me, does everyone have two white lines there,” and he said no.

I’m worried that the people reading the MRI won’t look there. The prescription said to do the shoulder, and when I expressed my concerns about the location to the MRI guy he said, well, you’re so small we’re going to get that part in any case. But they might not look there.

In other news: The moth I photographed the other day is now dead. I felt terrible. (Again.) Maybe I should have tried to catch it and release it outside.

Stacy Horn

I've written six non-fiction books, the most recent is Damnation Island: Poor, Sick, Mad, and Criminal in 19th-Century New York.

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