She said, "The beautiful thing about such moments in life is that there is so much clarity. You know what you live for and what matters. It is polarizing, and it is peaceful."
Husb. looks like he's had bricks thrown at him by people who hate his smile and his way of life. He looks like crap. Bar brawl. Border control. The scars are Mary Shelley Victorian lit shit. (I'll post pictures later, because he asked me to.)
You should see the other guy(s). They're state-of-the-art best-in-the-country medical bricks known as the good doctors Ord and Lubek, grown scholarly men I have clapped to my bosom with gratitude especially Dr Ord who is a Welshman, and, in my youth I spent a glory of days in Angelsey. Yes, wearing Wellington boots.
The waiting room for long-haul-to-Asia type flights of surgery like Husb's, was full of people like me, and -- one must imagine -- like Brad Pitt waiting for Angie. It was peaceful. I knew there was no where else to be. Nothing else to do. The focus was like the first time I looked through a microscope and at first everything was blurry and I was like, this sucks, I can't believe this is my big birthday present for turning 12, I can't see anything, and then -- the feathers of a butterfly's wing.
I, who flail like a drowning man in a teaspoon of tepid tap water, am in the tao of the thing and -- it's a surprise to me too -- I'm not feeling too bad going over Niagara Falls in a barrel.