Or at least, I can stop worrying, provisionally. The lump is probably not malignant, and after I get the sonogram in two weeks we’ll know one way or the other for sure. For now they think it’s a lipoma, which is a fatty tumor that more or less minds its own business and hangs out with its fatty friends. Which is kind of gross, but given the alternative: I’ll take my lipoma and like it, sir.
I didn’t tell you about this, or much of anyone else. It’s a funny thing. The nights get awfully black when the road ahead veers off and you suddenly don’t know how much more road there might be. It’s not fun to think about the strange shape of mortality when mortality actually bears thinking about. Wide-eyed excited nights in high school, O yes, you can wonder til dawn and peer ahead in a thrilled hush, dreaming of drawing a flaring line on the night sky like a shooting star.
Different when it might just might be real.
Why people never talk about this sort of thing:
You: Hey, how’s things?
Linus: Great, man, great. Yeah, I met this girl I’m kind of interested in, who knows but we’re having fun hanging out. She’s a little young, but not like Billy Joel young, you know. The next recording is moving forward, thinking about that is keeping us on our toes. I love October, it’s my favorite month, so I want to spend some walking time in the park on the weekend. And I’ve got this thing on my back and maybe I’ll die.
You: Uh … cool. Check please.
Now I need to start working on all those dark-of-night promises. I think I’m supposed to be nice to everyone for a few years, and there was something about smelling the roses.